


Wishing On A Star

by Nekomata58919



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bottom Daryl Dixon, Comedy, Eventual Sex, Fractured Fairy Tale, Light Angst, M/M, Might change, Non-Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt, Top Rick Grimes, a bunch of other characters show up but I didn't want to tag them all, i think, inclusion of Fairy Tale characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekomata58919/pseuds/Nekomata58919
Summary: Daryl Dixon lived on the edge of a forest. A concrete forest, the urban jungle. Nothing like the woods he and his brother had grown up in, but still wild in its own right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to one of my newest fics. This intro is going to be a little long, but I ask that you read it because this is important. Because this fic is a bit...weird, whether or not I continue really is up to you all.  
> Now, as you can tell from the tags, this is an AU. In fact, it’s an AU based on the mini series known as The 10th Kingdom. If you have seen it, great, I hope you like this silly thing as much as I do. Yes, the first few chapters will follow the series more closely, but you’ll find I’ve changed a few things as well.  
> If you haven’t, well, I hope you enjoy it too. You don’t need to have seen the 10th Kingdom to read this. I think—if you like ridiculous AUs—that you’ll find this to be a humorous read regardless. And here’s the thing; if you want to watch the 10th Kingdom, this won’t contain any big spoilers for the ending of the series.  
> And if this interests you, or you do feel like you’d want to watch the series first, you can watch all 5 parts for free on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJJQXihFFjI  
> So now, without further ado, please enjoy!

         Daryl Dixon lived on the edge of a forest. A concrete forest, the urban jungle. Nothing like the woods he and his brother had grown up in, but still wild in its own right. The tiny, rat infested apartment might as well have been the cabin; it certainly wasn’t much better. Merle’s junk didn’t help. Daryl sighed, picking his way over empty beer cans, take out containers, and whatever the hell else existed on the wooden nightmare that was the floor.

         “Damnnit!” Merle’s voice carried down the hallway as Daryl left their apartment. He glared up at him from where he crouched by the elevator. “You see this shit?” Merle gestured at the frayed wires in his hand. “This ain’t my damn job! Fuckin’ pricks. This is what an electrician is for!”

         Daryl grunted as he got on the elevator anyway. This was the fourth time he’d heard that complaint this month. And the millionth time since they’d moved in.

         “Where the hell you goin’, Baby Brother?” Merle asked, eyes narrowed.

         “Work, where else?” Daryl replied.

         Merle sneered and rolled his eyes. “Don’t back talk me, boy. An’ fer that you can use the damn stairs when you get back.” He fiddled with the wires and got the elevator to head down.

         The elevator dinged when they reached the third floor down.

         “Yer barbecue ribs are on top of the microwave,” Daryl said. The doors slid open.

         Merle nearly spat the beer he’d brought with him at the site of his boss on the other side of the doors.

         Allen stormed in, followed by his son Ben. “Merle, I’ve been calling this elevator for the last half hour! Didn’t you fix it?”

         “I did, sir,” Merle said, his voice barely concealing a growl. “But it broke again.”

         “Well don’t take all night on it, you’ve still gotta look at the boiler. It’s driving everybody crazy,” Allen told him, frowning. “There’s air in the pipes! The whole thing’s gotta be drained and bled.”

         “Yes, sir. Just gotta fix the leak in number nine, an’ then I’ll get to it.”

         Allen sneered. “I’m only gonna tell you this once, Merle. There are an awful lot of people who’d kill to have your job. An _awful lot_ of people.”

         Merle grumbled a response. The elevator dinged again and the two assholes strode off, followed a moment later by Daryl.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The guard tromped down the long, dimly lit stone corridors of the prison. It was one of the least occupied areas, which meant it was quiet. The only sound being the cries of a vulture from outside, enjoying a rather grisly meal. And that also meant the footsteps behind him were a little more obvious than before.

         “Who’s there?” the guard demanded, turning around. Sparkly pink dust hit him in the face and he collapsed. The keys jingled as something plucked them from the guard’s belt, and the footsteps continued past him as the keys faded out of existence.

         The footsteps stopped at the end of the corridor and the cell door swung open.

         Three trolls stood from where they’d been either sitting on their beds or leaning against the wall, bumping into one another as they tried to stand properly.

         “You’re pathetic. You call yourselves trolls?”

         “Sorry, Uncle,” the eldest troll—Gavin—said, passing dirt fingers through his curly brown and gray hair.

         “Yeah, sorry,” the lanky blonde troll with a burn scar echoed.

         “Won’t happen again,” the red-head said, smiling her sweetest smile. It might have worked, if not for the tusks protruding from her bottom lip.

         “Disappointments, the three of you!” the disembodied voice snapped.

         “C’mon, Uncle, take off the magic shoes,” Gavin whined.

         An annoyed scoff, and then a pair of gaudy golden shoes appeared, then a leather jacket, followed by a tall troll with thinning salt and pepper hair topped with a crooked iron crown. “I can handle them!” he snarled, despite looking a little winded. “Let’s go.”

         The three trolls followed him out of their cell eagerly.

         “ _Wait!_ ” a voiced boomed in their heads. “ _Don’t even_ think _of leaving just yet._ ”

         The Troll King looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. He spotted a sign to the Maximum Security Wing and smirked. Of course. He pushed open the door at the end of the hall, leading into the wing. A sign by the door read:

 

**Maximum Security Wing**

         Prison Guards:

_Do not enter alone!_

_Do not enter without Governor’s approval!_

 

         The Troll King rolled his eyes and passed by it without a care.

         “Suck an elf! Maximum Security Wing?” Gavin exclaimed, looking a little distressed.

         “I knew it,” Paula muttered.

         “Uncle, we shouldn’t be here,” Dwight said, looking back towards the door.

         The Troll King ignored them as he opened another door with the guard’s keys.

         “No really, this is where they keep the King,” Gavin insisted.

         Again ignoring them, The Troll king strolled inside. Almost immediately they were stopped by a sign popping out of the wall.

 

         ABSOLUTELY NO COMMUNICATION WITH PRISONER

 

         The Troll King walked around it. Another popped up.

 

         ABSOLUTELY NO PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH PRISONER

 

         Frowning, The Troll King sidestepped that one as well. A third sign dropped from the ceiling, this one had a metal basket attached to it.

 

         NO FOOD BEYOND THIS POINT

         PLACE BELOW

 

         Gavin, Paula, and Dwight kept up a steady stream of protests as the Troll King once again ignored the sign. He stopped in front of a heavily chained and locked door.

         “ _Open the door_ ,” commanded the voice.

         The Troll King opened the window at the top of the door and peered inside.

         A large man with slicked back black hair sprawled lazily on a chair, a crimson cloak draped over his broad, leather clad shoulders. He grinned crookedly as his gloved hand stroked through the fur of a collie that sat beside him. “Took you long enough.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Prince Paul Rovia stared out the carriage window at the grassy fields filled with wild flowers. Just beyond the field were mountains, rising so high their tops disappeared into the clouds. He sighed and fidgeted with the collar of the stuffy white and gold suit he wore. “Where are we going again?” Paul asked.

         “To Beantown, in the southwest corner of your Kingdom, Sir,” Dale, his man servant, replied. “You’re supposed to be visiting all the villages and towns within your Kingdom before your Coronation.”

         Paul sighed. “Can’t we just go hunting?”

         “Soon, Sir,” Dale said, his tone patient. “But first we are making a stop at the Snow White Memorial Prison. Your step-father has applied for parole again.”

         “What’s the point? We always deny it.” Paul shook his head and rubbed at his freshly shaven face. He hated shaving.

         “It’s merely a formality, Sir,” Dale said. “Think of it as more of a courtesy visit.”

         The carriage pulled up to the entrance of the prison nearly twenty minutes later. The prison was a huge stone structure that had once been a castle. Instead of flags flying from the towers, now there were cages with corpses in various states of decay inside, and one man who might have still been alive. Over all, clearly a pleasant place.

         Paul climbed out of the carriage, eyeing the prison with disdain. “Not exactly the red carpet treatment. Where is everyone?”

         “I’m sure they haven’t forgotten about your visit, Your Majesty,” Dale said, coming to a stop beside him. His wide, slightly bulging eyes said he thought differently. “Let me go check, Sir.”

         Paul waited as Dale disappeared inside the prison. He hated this place. “What is the point of visiting?” he muttered to himself, once again tugging at the collar of his suit.

         After fifteen minutes, Paul grew bored of waiting and headed for the front doors. “Dale!” he called impatiently. The sound of a howling wolf made him pause. It was still daylight, that wasn’t right. Shaking his head, Paul entered the prison. “Hello?”

         The door slammed behind him and Paul whirled around. His eyes widened and he took a step back, mouth gaping. Dale was impaled on the spikes of the door, his stomach sliced open and his guts spilling out. “ _Dale!_ ”

         “Hello, Princeling!”

         Paul grunted as strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into a stone wall, robbing him of his breath. Another set of hands grabbed his arms and shoved him forward, smacking his head against the opposite wall. Laughter rang in his ears. Paul was thrown back and forth, confusion and pain dulling his senses, until finally he tripped over something and tumbled to the ground.

         “I call the first shot!”

         “You got the first shot last time!”

         “Shut the _hell_ up!”

         The arguing stopped. Paul blinked and rubbed his head. Looking up, he saw in growing dismay King Negan approaching him.

         “Your are _long_ way from home, aren’t you?” King Negan sneered, twirling a long gold scepter before swinging it back to rest over his shoulder. “God, you’re stupid as hell.”

         Paul scrambled to his feet. “You will pay for this!”

         “Oh-hoh! Will I now?” King Negan chuckled. “Because I don’t think so.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “No, no, no. I think, you’re going to beg at my damn _feet_ for scraps.” Negan whistled long and lilting. A collie trotted up beside him. “This here is a _very_ special dog. Does whatever I say. But that’s not what makes it truly special. No sir. _This_ is a _magical_ dog.”

         Paul tamped down a shiver of fear. He couldn’t let his step-father get the upper hand.

         “I hope you like dogs,” Negan drawled, “because you’re about to spend the rest of your sad little life as one!” He let out a sharp whistle, smacking the collie on the flank, and it ran forward.

         Before Paul could react, the dog jumped up, placing it’s front paws against his chest. Distantly he heard jeering laughter as a gold mist surrounded him and the dog. The world began to grow around him as the dog stretched and morphed into his mirror image. Paul stumbled and fell forward onto all fours. All four _paws_.

         “Hoo _boy_ , Paul, you don’t greet people on all fours, do you?” Negan taunted.

         Paul growled and barked before turning and sprinting away down a corridor.

         “Get the lead outta your asses and stop him!” Negan shouted, gripping his scepter threateningly.

         Gavin, Paula, and Dwight surged forward.

         “We’ll get him!” Paula promised, pushing past the other two.

         “He can’t _escape_ , we’re in a _prison_!” Gavin said, shoving her aside and taking the lead.

         Negan rolled his eyes and looked at the dog who was now a Prince. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

         The collie turned in circles, whining pitifully before he stopped and looked up at Negan. “W-where’s my tail gone?”

         “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Negan shook his head and headed down a corridor, leaving Simon and the puppy behind. Trolls were beyond stupid and he’d be damned if he trusted _them_ to get Paul back. He passed by several cells, ignoring the calls for help or food. No, he had a destination in mind, and none of the morons he passed were any better than the trolls.

         Negan stopped in front of a cell about halfway down. “You.”

         The man inside stood from where he’d been sitting on the ground. He approached the door and glared through the opening. “What?”

         “What the hell are you?” Negan asked.

         The man hesitated, then his eyes flashed gold. “Half wolf.”

         Negan wasn’t surprised. With the wildly curly brown hair and scruffy graying beard, he looked it. “I’m going to let you out. In return, you’re going to fetch a little something for me.”

         “I don’t fetch,” the man rumbled.

         “That wasn’t a request,” Negan sneered. “I’ve turned Prince Paul into a dog. _You_ are going to bring him back to me. Before the trolls do.” He unlocked the door and pulled it open. “You belong to me now. Your will is mine. Everything you do from now on is because _I_ say so.”

         The half wolf’s eye twitched but he nodded.

         “Go.”

 

         Paul ran down the steep stone steps as fast as he could. He could faintly hear the three trolls behind him and knew he had to either get our or hide, fast. He reached the dungeons and looked around. One side of the dungeon was flooded, the other side was filled with junk. _Junk it is_ , Paul thought. He ran through the aisles and came to a stop. Large crates blocked his way. Paul stood on his back paws and tried to see over them. It was difficult and he bumped into something. A clatter behind him had Paul spinning around in panic.

         A mirror slid to the ground. The glass rippled and shimmered. Paul approached it. Faintly, he could see what looked like buildings inside, all glowing brightly in the night. Loud clomping footsteps echoed behind him. Paul had no choice. He leaped through the mirror.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl sighed as he sped along the road through Woodruff Park on his motorcycle. He normally took the highway into downtown Atlanta, but he was already running late, so short cut it was. Daryl hoped his boss would let it slide, he needed this job, and honestly working in a restaurant wasn’t too bad. It was better than hanging out with Merle and the junkies he called friends.

         A dark shape burst from the bushes and Daryl swerved. His bike tipped, sending him tumbling to the ground with a shout. He groaned and sat up. Hissing at the scrapes on his arms, Daryl got to his feet. “What the hell!” He rounded his bike to see what he’d nearly run into.

         A collie lay a foot away, whining softly.

         “Shit!” Daryl crouched by the dog. “You okay?” he asked, not expecting an answer of course. Daryl reached out and pawed through the collie’s scruff. No collar or tags.

         The collie barked and sat up. It looked around, ears perked, and then up at Daryl.

         “Well I can’t just leave ya out here. Especially after almost runnin’ ya over,” Daryl said, standing up. “Come on. Gonna be even later to work now.” He walked back to his bike and got it standing again. He wasn’t too far from work. They could walk. A wolf howled in the distance, causing Daryl to freeze.

         The collie barked and trotted up to him.

         “Let’s go,” Daryl muttered. He shook his head. Daryl figured he must have hit his head if he was hearing wolves in the middle of the city.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Gavin, Paula, and Dwight stumbled out of the mirror and into a wooded area.

         “Where are we?” Gavin asked, looking around with a frown.

         “Look!” Dwight pointed through a gap in the trees. Gavin and Paula made awed sounds. They stared up at the many large buildings filled with lights.

         Gavin led them closer. “ _Wow,_ get a look at that.”

         “This isn’t part of the Nine Kingdoms,” Paula said, eyes wide. “This is a magical place! Look at all those lights...”

         “They must go through hundreds of candles,” Dwight muttered. An idea came to him. “We should claim this kingdom.”

         “Yeah,” Paula agreed, grinning as she took out her sword.

         “Good idea.” Gavin lifted his axe, Paula and Dwight—unsheathing his own sword—knelt on either side of him. “Let’s claim it before someone else does.”

         Paula lifted her sword. “I hereby claim this land, and all its inhabitants, in the name of the Troll Nation,” she declared. Gavin raised his axe over his head and Dwight stabbed his sword into the grass. “Hence forth it shall be known as…” Paula frowns and looks over at her cousins. “What should we call it?”

         Dwight perked up. “The Tenth Kingdom!”

         Gavin grinned and nodded.

         “The Tenth Kingdom!” the three chorused. Pleased with their find, they made their way through the wooded place, bumping and punching one another.

         “Wait,” Dwight said, pushing Paula off him. “Look.”

         They crept over to the bench where the couple were making out. Before they could react, Gavin smacked their heads together, knocking them out. Paula snickered and the three high-fived. Faint music filled the air, distracting them.

         Dwight picked up the small black rectangle from the bench. Two long string things dangled from it, but it seemed as though that was where the music was coming from. He lifted one and pressed it to his ear.

_...When your on Easy Street._

_And we’re breaking out the good champagne,_

_Sittin’ pretty on a gravy train,_

_And when we sing every sweet refrain repeats,_

_Right here on Easy Street._

         Dwight nods along to the music. “ _Nice._ ”

         “Very nice,” Gavin agreed with a smirk. Even Paula nodded.

         Dwight pokes at the device until it shuts off and shoves it into a leather pocket. “Let’s go see what other things this land has for us.”

         “We’ve only been here a few minutes, there must be many more treasures,” Paula said, following the other two out onto a path.

         And as if to prove them right, Gavin spotted something on the ground a few feet away. He picked it up and his eyes lit up. “Nice cow,” he growled, pulling open the leather thing.

         Dwight snatched it from him and pulled out a white card. “If found, return to Daryl Dixon at apartment 17, 300 Peach Street,” he read.

         “A dog has been here!” Paula exclaimed, holding up a patch of fur from where she crouched. “Maybe this _Daryl Dixon_ has the Prince.”

         “Let’s go!” Gavin snapped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm posting chapter two now, but that's because tomorrow is going to be busy so I don't know if I'll have time. But please, enjoy this chapter early. :)

         “Daryl, you’re five minutes late—are you okay?” Michonne—Daryl’s friend and co-worker—stopped her admonishment to grab Daryl’s face and tip it to the side. “You have a cut.”

         “’m fine, calm down. Just almost ran into this guy on my way here,” Daryl said, frowning down at the dog as they passed through the kitchen of the bar and grill.

         Michonne crouched down and pet the collie. “No collar?”

         “Nope,” Daryl replied.

         “Hmm, well, he looks like a Prince to me,” Michonne said with a grin. She gave the dog a few more pats before standing back up. “What will you do with him?”

         Daryl shrugged and opened the door to the storage. “I’ll figure it out after. Fer now he’s gonna stay in here.”

         “Alright. I’ll cover for you, but don’t go making this a habit,” Michonne teased. She gave his arm a friendly punch, picked up a tray of food, and left the kitchen.

         Daryl gave the dog—Prince—a stern look. “You stay here and don’t get into trouble.”

         Prince barked.

         Shaking his head, Daryl shut the door and got ready for his shift.

 

         Rick’s nostrils flared as he took in the scene in front of him. A restaurant. Not just any restaurant, one very much specializing in _meat_. His stomach growled. Rick frowned at himself. He had a job to do and he shouldn’t let himself be distracted. _Then again, a wolf’s gotta eat,_ Rick reasoned. Besides, he hadn’t eaten in four days; the Governor wasn’t particularly fond of wolves.

         Having made his decision, Rick strolled into the restaurant, only mildly embarrassed at the fact he was wearing dirty, torn up clothes. He looked around for a waiter or waitress when the scent of dog invaded his senses. “Convenient.”

         “Hello, sir, are you waiting to be seated?” a beautiful woman, her long dread-locked hair pulled back into a bun, asked with a polite smile.

         Rick smiled back. “Yes, actually.” His eyes flicked down to her name tag. Michonne. Interesting name.

         “Normally it’s more a seat yourself kind of deal, but I can show you to a seat,” Michonne said, leading him into the dining area. “Is outside fine?”

         “I prefer it, actually,” Rick replied.

 

 

         “Okay,” Daryl said, coming to a stop in front of his first table. He did his best to ignore the judging looks the balding fat man and his wife gave him as he pulled out his pad and pen. “What can I get ya?”

         “Rare implies dangerously cooked. When I say rare I mean, let it look at the oven in terror, then bring it out to me.”

         Daryl turned to see a man a few tables over talking to Michonne. He was...well, he looked homeless, if Daryl was being honest. Torn up clothes and a fluffy salt and pepper beard. Maybe more mountain man than homeless. Not that Daryl was one to judge by appearances. Besides, otherwise the man seemed like he’d be handsome if he cleaned up. Swatting the thought away like a particularly annoying fly, Daryl turned back to his customers. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

         “I’ll have a jug of margarita, a diet cola, and two beers,” the man ordered. “And my wife—”

         Loud barking caused Daryl to jump. “Sorry, I’ll be right back,” he said, already leaving the table behind. He shook his head as he stormed through the kitchen to the storeroom. “Alright, that’s it. If ya can’t behave I’m takin’ ya outside...” Daryl looked down at Prince sitting next to the spilled flour. And the word spelled out in it.

         DANGER

         Daryl frowned. _What the hell?_ he thought. He was pretty sure this sort of shit was beneath the others. Besides, he had the keys so no-one would have been able to write that. Daryl frowned down at Prince. “I suppose you wrote that, huh?”

         “ _Arf!_ ” Prince’s tail wagged. It was almost as if he’d understood what Daryl had said.

         Daryl eyed the dog warily. “Bark once.”

         “Woof,” Prince replied.

         “Bark twice.” Daryl really didn’t like where this was going, but he had to be sure.

         “Woof, woof!” Prince barked back.

         “Shit!” Daryl took several steps back, away from Prince. “Can ya….can ya understand me?”

         Prince barked and stood up.

         Daryl looked back down at the flour. “...Who’s in danger? Us?”

         The collie grabbed the end of Daryl’s shirt in his teeth and yanked him towards the door.

 

         “So, the lamb chops, and two glasses of water?” Michonne asked, looking over the order with an arched eyebrow.

         Rick smiled. “Yes, thank you.” Just as the waitress was about to leave, he remembered why he was actually there. “Wait!”

         Michonne turned back. “Uh-huh?”

         “I meant to ask before, but, I’m looking for my dog. A collie,” Rick said. “I saw him heading in this direction before I lost him. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

         Both Michonne’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, so he’s _your_ dog? You’re lucky Daryl pays attention when he’s driving, he nearly hit him. He’s fine though! The dog. Come with me, we can go get him.”

         Rick stood and hurried after her. “This means a lot to me, thank you very much.”

         “Not a problem,” Michonne replied, waving off his thanks as she led him into the kitchen. She opened up the storeroom door. “Wait here, customers aren’t allowed in back.”

         Rick, however, had spotted the overturned flour and the word DANGER spelled out on the floor. Pushing past the waitress, he scuffed over it. “He’s not here.”

         “Huh. Daryl might’ve left early. He does that sometimes,” Michonne said.

         Annoyed, Rick pushed back past her. If that was the case, he’d need to track them again. Luckily there was still a trace of dog left in the air.

 

         Daryl climbed the stairs in his apartment, the clicking of Prince’s claws behind him echoing off the walls. When he reached his floor he froze. Jaqui and Jim, neighbors, were collapsed on the floor, covered in a strange pink dust. “What the fuck.”

         Prince whined, going over to Jim and nudging him with his nose. He sneezed and retreated.

         The elevator dinged, and Daryl turned the corner. The doors opened, but no-one was inside. He chewed on his lip. “Stay here,” he told the dog as he rounded the next corner and crept down the hall to his and Merle’s apartment. The door had been torn off it’s hinges and deep gouges left on the door frame. Daryl peered around the edge of the door.

         Merle was in his chair, unresponsive, and covered in the same pink dust.

         Daryl stepped silently around the door and crouched by the chair. “Merle, wake up,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder. Nothing.

         “Whattya think?” a faint voice asked from the bedroom. “Look! Here they are!”

         Daryl made his way over to the bedroom and pressed his back to the wall. He peeked around the corner. Two men were inside their shared bedroom. With all the leather they wore, they could have been part of some punk band. One of the guys was holding up a pair of Daryl’s boots.

         “Soft cow,” the guy said, his tone one of awe.

         The second, a lankier blond guy took the boots from him. “Nice!”

         Daryl turned to fully look into the room. The lankier guy pulled on his boots as the other clapped, clearly impressed for whatever reason.

         “Hello there, boy.”

         Swearing, Daryl spun around. A woman stood behind him, clad in an equal amount of leather and...were those tusks?

         “These shoes,” she said, indicating the ones clutched in her arms. “They’ve been very badly cared for. They’re scuffed! And cracked! And neglected!” She sounded offended.

         “You have nice shoes,” the older man—if he was one, those tusks were not normal—said, strolling out from his room, the blond guy following behind.

         “We have hundreds of pairs at home,” the woman told him.

         “So we know what we’re talking about,” added the blond man.

         Daryl really wished he’d grabbed his bow or knife. “Who the hell are ya? What the hell did ya do to Merle?”

         “Just sleeping,” scoffed the older man. “Hit him with a bit of Troll Dust, that’s all.”

         “Troll dust?” Daryl wondered if he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought.

         The older man stood up straight. “I am Gavin the troll, feared throughout the Nine Kingdoms.”

         “And I’m Paula the troll, dreaded throughout the Nine Kingdoms,” the woman said with a little bow.

         “And I’m Dwight the troll, terrified throughout the Nine Kingdoms,” said the blond with a smirk.

         Gavin let out a yell as he smashed the TV with his axe. He turned and approached Daryl. “So, where is he?”

         “He who?” Daryl demanded, backing away.

         “Prince Paul!” Paula snapped, rolling her eyes. “The dog!” She charged, pushing Daryl against a wall. “We’re going to count to three, and then we’ll make _you_ into a nice pair of shoes”

         “One! I’ll cut the shoes” Gavin growled, pressing his axe up under Daryl’s chin.

         Paula brandished a knife. “Two! I’ll shape the shoes.”

         Dwight pulled out his own knife. “Three! I’ll stitch—”

         “Alright! I’ll tell ya!” Daryl shouted, eyes flicking over to where Prince had hidden in the closet. “He’s...He’s outside.”

         The three trolls grabbed Daryl by the arms and hauled him towards the door. Paula and Gavin got hung up on the door, snarled at each other, then forced their way through.

         “Where is he?” Dwight demanded, shoving past the other two as they entered the hall.

         Daryl’s gaze landed on the elevator. “He’s hiding. Behind those doors.”

         The three bullied him towards the elevator and the doors dinged open.

         “That room wasn’t there a moment ago!” Gavin’s eyes widened. He looked at Daryl. “You’re a tricky one.”

         “There’s no-one in here!” Paula snarled as they gathered in the elevator.

         Deciding he could use their idiocy against them, Daryl squirmed out of their grasp. “Nah, he’s here. I just gotta press the button and open the secret door.” He smacked a button and darted out of the closing doors. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and slammed it on Gavin’s hand where it reached through the opening.

         “Suck an elf!” Gavin swore, yanking his hand back. The doors slid shut.

         Daryl smashed the control panel for the elevator—he’d apologize to Merle later—and hurried down the hall to the stairs, Prince running after him. “C’mon. Merle’ll be fine. You’re the one they’re after.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle grunted. The knocking on the door made his head hurt. “Fuck. Whatever it is, go away.” He rubbed at his face and sat up, hearing someone walk into the apartment. Didn’t sound like Daryl.

         “Ah, I’m sorry to disturb you,” a man’s voice said, his smooth Southern drawl less abrasive than Merle or Daryl’s. “I see trolls have visited you first.”

         “The fuck?” Merle growled, blinking blearily down at the pink dust covering him. He didn’t remember taking any drugs that night. Must’ve been some good shit. Merle looked up at the tall, bearded man examining the apartment. A dark denim button up shirt, nice jeans, cowboy boots; Merle hated him already. Or he would, if the room would stop spinning.

         “Actually, you’re in luck,” the man said with a friendly smile. “I’m authorized to make you a very special deal. One that will put an end to all worries, financial or otherwise.”

         “Hey, hey, hey. What the hell’s goin’ on?” Merle demanded, finally getting to his feet. “Don’t make me shoot you, Mr. Friendly.”

         The man held up his hands. “I’m sorry, but you seemed like the type that would like this deal. All I need to know is where Daryl has gone. You see, he has my dog.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. Inside sat a weird black bean. “A Magic Bean. Which, once eaten, will grant you six wishes.”

         A strange, earthy smell hit Merle in the nose and he felt himself relaxing. “Magic bean?”

         The man plucked the bean from the box and dropped it in Merle’s hand where it bounced around in his palm.

         Merle frowned at the thing. Was this some sort of new drug?

         “Six big wishes,” the man repeated. “Anything you desire.”

         And wasn’t that tempting as all hell. Merle nodded slowly. But if this was a new drug, he could make some big bucks with it. Merle glared at the man. “Get the hell outta my apartment!”

         The man held up his hands. “I just need to know where Daryl is.”

         Merle sighed. How had Daryl ended up getting involved with some drug dealer? His baby brother always hated drugs. His eyes were drawn back to the bean. “Is this fer real?”

         “Yes. A standard multiple wishes deal,” the man assured, hands on his hips. “Six wishes. No going back on any wishes once they’re made, no making five wishes and wishing for another thousand. Now… Where is Daryl?”

         “Why do you want ‘im again?” Merle asked, eyes narrowed.

         “My dog. He has him,” replied the man, picking up a stray piece of paper and a pencil.

         Merle took the paper and pencil and scribbled down an address. “If he ain’t at work, he’s prob’ly with Carol. Mousy woman, fuckin’ crazy.” He handed the paper over.

         “Thank you very much,” the man said, tucking the paper in his pocket.

         “Hey, wait, how long does this shit take to work?” Merle demanded.

         The man glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. The first three hours are the worst.”

         Merle watched him go with a frown. He looked back at the bean. “Anythin’ I want, huh? To hell with it.” Merle popped the bean into his mouth and swallowed. It was a bitch going down and tasted like shit. He grimaced as he felt it slide down his throat and then...it was gone. It was probably a stupid idea, swallowing some bean from a stranger, but Merle had never claimed to be a genius.

_Growl…_ _Rumble..._

         Merle paled. His stomached roiled again and he flinched. “Fuckin’ shit!” Merle grabbed his stomach and ran for the bathroom.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Gavin, Paula, and Dwight smacked at the walls of their prison. Nothing. Again.

         “I’ve been thinking back over the years, and I feel this is probably the worst spell we’ve ever been put under,” Paula sighed, kicking at the doors.

         Gavin huffed and nodded, crossing his arms. “We’ve been tricked by a powerful warlock.”

         “I think...we might be in his pocket,” Dwight said.

         Paula tilted her head.

         “What?” Gavin asked, frowning.

         “I think he might have shrunk us, and put us in a matchbox,” Dwight looked up at the ceiling, “inside his pocket.”

         Gavin and Paula looked up as well, eyes wide. “...That’s ridiculous,” Gavin snorted, shaking his head. “You’re falling to pieces! Get a grip on yourself. How can we be in a matchbox you idiot?” Dwight’s lip curled in offense. “ _Where are all the matches?_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Hello! Carol?” Daryl called as he entered her apartment. He was thankful she’d given him a copy of the key so he could come and go as he pleased. Merle was drunk or high way too often and he was meaner than usual when he was.

         “Daryl?” came the reply from the living room. Carol smiled up at him as Daryl entered the room, Prince on his heels.

         “Hey,” Daryl said, sitting next to her when she patted the couch.

         “What’s with the dog, hm, Pookie?” Carol asked, reaching down to pet Prince.

         Daryl sighed and dropped his head back against the couch. “Nearly ran into ‘im on my way to work. Then...” he sighed. “Tonight’s been really shitty. Mind if I stay here tonight?”

         Carol sat back and Prince hopped up onto the couch and draped over her legs. “Of course I don’t mind.” She took a sip of the wine she was holding. “It’s always nice to have company. Want something to drink?”

         “Nah.” Daryl wasn’t much of a drinker. He hated how he got when he was drunk.

         “Speaking of company...” Carol grinned. “Have you even tried going out and meeting someone?”

         Daryl frowned. “Why would I?”

         “Because you’re a catch, Pookie. You shouldn’t waste your life alone,” Carol replied, poking him in the side.

         “Quit it,” Daryl muttered, pushing her hand away. “Ain’t lookin’ fer no-one. ‘Sides, I’m too… An’ how would I explain any of it to Merle? Ya know he’d kick my ass if he found out I like guys.”

         Carol patted his knee sympathetically. “I know. But I just want you to be happy.”

         Daryl shrugged. “’m happy enough.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         There was that damn knocking again. Merle growled out garbled swears as he rolled out of bed. He’d finally gotten to sleep at one in the morning after three hours in the fucking bathroom. “Magic bean my ass.” The knocking grew louder and more demanding. Merle pushed the broken door aside to see, much to his ever growing irritation, his boss on the other side.

         “So, of course you never fixed the pipes like you promised,” Allen sneered. “That I’ve come to expect. But this!” He gestured at the broken door.

         “This… I can explain all this,” Merle said. “And I’ll get right on it.”

         “No! ‘I’ll get right on it’ isn’t gonna cut it any more!” Allen snapped. “I want you and your brother outta my apartment, today! You’re fired!”

         “Fired? No, you can’t fire me!” Merle followed the man into the hall. “Wait!”

         Allen whirled around, fuming. “What you redneck asshole!?”

         Merle felt anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “I wish you an’ your entire family would kiss my ass an’ be my slaves forever,” he snarled.

         Allen stomped back over. “What the hell did you just say—” He froze, his eyes going glassy. “Oh, Master...”

         Merle blinked. _What the fuck?_ Then he remembered the magic bean. Wishes. He’d just wished… A malicious grin spread across his face. _This could work_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “How long do you think this spell will last?” Gavin asked, looking over at Paula who sat across from him with Dwight.

         “It can’t last long,” she said, smacking her head back against the wall.

         “About one hundred years?”

         “At most.” Paula’s eyes brightened. “Maybe only fifty!”

         Gavin pointed a finger at her, grinning. “We’ll just have to make the most of our imprisonment. And agree _not_ to eat each other.”

         “Absolutely,” Paula agreed. Neither noticed Dwight’s not-so-convincing smile and nod. “We’ll do the hundred years, and maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll only have to do two-thirds of the spell and get out early!”

         The three cheered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those that are reading and enjoying! I love reading your comments! :D

         Rick smiled when the apartment door opened to reveal a short, gray haired woman with steely blue eyes.

         “You do realize it’s eight in the morning on a Saturday, right?” she asked. “I’m not interested in becoming a Jehovah's Witness, thanks.”

         “No, no, that’s not why I’m here,” Rick said, stopping the door from closing with his hand. “Actually, I’m looking for Daryl? He has my dog. I’ve been trying to find him.”

         The woman—Carol, Rick assumed—eyed him with suspicion. “And what makes you think he’s here?”

         Rick smiled. “I was told I could find him at this address.” He pulled the paper from his pocket and held it out.

         Carol took it and frowned at it. “Looks like Merle’s chicken scratch,” she muttered. Carol looked back up at him. “Come in. You can wait here while I get the dog.”

         “Thank you, Ms….?” Rick stepped into the apartment, taking in the small hallway and the kitchen he could see just beyond.

         “Carol,” Carol said, turning away. “One sec.”

         Rick nodded, though she couldn’t see. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten last night, having been too busy hunting down the Prince. His fangs itched and Rick’s instincts took over. Lunging, he hit the back of Carol’s neck, knocking her out cold. Rick licked his lips and he crouched over her.

         “No!” He jerked back, eyes wide. Rick shook his head and ran his hands over his face. He couldn’t _eat_ her. He was better than that. Or he tried to be. Clearly not hard enough…

         “Carol?” a raspy voice called from another room.

         Rick blinked. _That must be Daryl,_ he thought. He couldn’t let Daryl walk out and see Carol unconscious on the floor, he’d get the wrong idea. Rick scooped her up and dumped her in the tiny kitchen. Now what?

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle whistled to himself as he strolled into his kitchen. He pulled open the door to the little fridge. There was only one beer left. He frowned down at the bottle as he went to pop the lid off. An idea struck. Merle put the bottle back and shut the door. “Okay, Wish Master, give me a never endin’ supply of beer!” He opened the door to reveal two bottles of beer. He shut it again. “Two? That’s your fuckin’ idea of never endin’?” Deciding he might as well have the one he’d gone in there to get, Merle opened the door a third time.

         Four beers sat innocently on the top rack.

         Merle shut the door and opened it a fourth time. Eight beers. Again. Sixteen beers. And a sixth time… Thirty-two beers! “Hell yeah!” Merle clapped his hands together. He grabbed four, knocked the door shut, and strolled into the living room. “You should see this shit!”

         Allen looked up from where he was cleaning Merle’s boots.

         “Oh, for fucks sake,” Merle muttered, setting the beers down on the coffee table. “What are you doin’?”

         “I’m worried they’re not clean enough, Master,” Allen replied. He sounded disappointed in himself. “Shall I lick your shoes again?”

         Merle sighed and rolled his eyes. “Tongue.”

         Allen stuck his tongue out. It was black with shoe polish.

         “Five more minutes.” Merle turned to see Ben struggling to put the door back together. “Your son still workin’ on that thing?”

         “Almost done, Master,” Ben called over.

         Merle startled at the feel of hands on his ass. He turned and smacked Allen away. “Fuck off! Once was enough. _Damn._ ” Merle picked up a beer and collapsed into his ratty old chair. “What should I wish for next...”

         Allen took the beer, opened it, and handed it back.

         “I wish...” Merle rubbed at the scruffy beard on his chin. He grinned and sat up straight. “I wish I had somethin’ that would clean this apartment all by itself an’ I wouldn’t have to lift a finger!”

         The closet door swung open and the vacuum cleaner—when had they gotten that?—sped out, glowing green. “Gotta clean, gotta clean, gotta clean! Over here, over here, over here. Where’s the dust, where’s the dust, where’s the dust?”

         Merle blinked. The talking was a little unsettling but hell, if he and Daryl didn’t have to do shit he’d live with it. He lifted his feet out of the way as the vacuum zoomed past.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Carol, ya up yet?” Daryl called again.

         Rick hurried down the hall. If he could just hide, then he could knock Daryl out, grab the dog, and go home. Simple. A door swung open and a man walked out.

         Short, dirty-blond hair, storm cloud eyes, a mole above the lip, and strong arms… Rick was entranced. Not to mention his scent, which he’d gotten only hints of before, was enough to send his wolfy side into a frenzy.

         “The hell are you!?” Daryl shouted, dropping into a fighting stance. “What’d ya do to Carol?”

         Rick stalked forward. “You smell amazing,” he growled. “Like the forest, and gently smoking wood, and just...” Had Rick been in his right mind, he’d have been embarrassed by the whine that left his throat.

         Daryl’s gaze darted around the hall. He backed up towards the bedroom.

         Rick shot forward, slamming the door shut with a rumble. He shook his head. He was there for a reason. Dog first, then Mate. Right. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my dog?” he asked.

         Daryl ducked under his arm and ran for the front door. Changing his mind he instead threw open the hall window. He swore.

         “Running is a bad idea,” Rick rumbled, advancing. Starting up a chase would only confuse his instincts further.

         “Back off, asshole!” Daryl snatched up a broom and thrust it in Rick’s face.

         Feisty. A good quality in a Mate. But not good right now. “I’m sorry, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. That’s entirely my fault,” he apologized.

         Daryl jabbed the broom into his face with a growl of his own. Rick stumbled back. A hit to the groin. Rick gasped and bent double, stumbling towards the wall. Daryl smacked him in the face and sent him tumbling out the window and into the garbage below.

         “Shit!”

         Rick blinked and looked up just in time to see Daryl looking worriedly out the window. He grinned up at him and Daryl slammed the window shut. His superior sense of hearing heard Daryl shouting in dismay a moment later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “How damn big is your family!?” Merle snapped, trying to move through the crowd of brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles in the apartment while not tripping over the vacuum still cleaning anything and everything.

         “But I wanted you to meet my wife, Donna, Master,” Allen said, leading a beautiful woman with long, wavy brown hair over to him.

         “Oh-hoh!” Merle leered down at her. “I’ll uh, take care of her, you go get me a beer.”

         “Right away, Master.” Allen pushed through his family towards the kitchen.

         Donna held up a watch. “This is my husbands Rolex. I want _you_ to have it, Master.”

         Merle raised an eyebrow. “You sure it ain’t one of those cheap imitations?”

         “Oh no, Master! It’s real, solid gold,” Donna replied in earnest. “I got it for my husband’s birthday. But all our possessions are yours now, Master.”

         “Sounds good to me, Sugar Tits,” Merle chuckled, slapping her ass. “Hey, Allen! I’m gonna take your wife to the store. Buy her some underwear.”

         “Of course, Master!” Allen called from the kitchen, followed by the sound of shattering glass. “Help yourself!”

         “Master!” an old woman called, coming up to him. “I think there’s someone trapped in the elevator. I’m hearing voices. And banging.”

         Merle glared down at her. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I ain’t the janitor no more. It ain’t my problem. Why don’t you get your rich, saggy ass out there an’ do it yourself?”

         The woman beamed up at him. “Oh at once, Master.”

         Merle rolled his eyes and then returned his attention to Donna. “I think we need some spendin’ money.” He smirked. “Hmm… I wish…for a million dollars.”

         The doorbell buzzed.

         Merle rushed to answer it. And there, sitting in front of the newly repaired door, was a big brown bag full of cash. Cackling to himself, he scooped it up and headed back inside to count it. “Fuck yeah! I’m rich!” Merle crowed, pulling out stack after stack of hundred dollar bills. “Wait ‘til Darlina sees this!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick groaned as he got to his feet. If he hadn’t been a wolf that would have broken his back for sure. As it was it had winded him for a bit. He looked back up at the window.

         Footsteps approached. “Sir? Can I help you?”

         “Huh?” Rick spared a glance beside him. A young woman with a puff of curly black hair was looking up at him with a curious but kind expression. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m very confused.”

         The woman made a noise of recognition. “You must be Steven’s referral. He said you’d drop by to make an appointment.”

         Rick wished Daryl would look back out the window. It wasn’t likely, though, considering how much he’d pissed him off. Besides, he had a job to do. Right? “Can you tell me what I’m doing here?”

         The woman shook her head. “Let’s get to know each other a bit before tackling the big questions, okay?”

         Rick nodded absently. “Big questions...”

 

         “Now, I’m going to give you a word, and I want you to tell me the first word that comes to mind,” Sasha said, rounding her desk to sit by the couch where Rick lay.

         “Sure,” Rick agreed easily, looking around the office. It was nice, with dark wood paneling, soft light, and lots of books.

         Sasha clicked her pen. “First one. Home.”

         “Cooking.”

         “Coward.”

         “Chicken.”

         “Wedding.”

         “Cake.”

         “Dead.”

         “Walking.”

         Sasha’s brows rose. She made another note. “Sexual.”

         “Appetite.” Rick was sitting up now. This nonsense was reminding him of his empty stomach. It was now, what, five days? Six? Since he’d last eaten.

         Sasha hummed. “Love.”

         Rick frowned. Well, that was a hard one. “I don’t know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle pushed away another eager ass kisser with a grunt. “Allen, get your god damn relatives outta my apartment. If I knew there were this many… Fuck off!”

         “Of course, Master,” Allen said.

         “Hey!” Merle shouted, spotting the vacuum sucking up the curtains. “Stop that!” He weaved his way through the crowd and over the vacuum.

         “Clean it up, clean it up, clean it up!” The vacuum chanted as it kept trying to eat the curtains.

         “Fuckin’, turn off!” Merle snarled, yanking at the other end of the curtain. Shouts and screams of surprise made him look up. Beer was shooting from the fridge like missiles, smashing against the walls and the floor.

         Allen, arms up to protect his face, struggled to get into the kitchen to close the door.

         Swearing up a storm, Merle grabbed a gun and beat the vacuum into submission. This was all going to absolute shit.

         “I can’t stop it, Master!” Allen shouted, using his entire body to try and keep the door closed.

         Merle slammed into the door, using his significant bulk to do what the smaller man couldn’t. He reached blindly for some wires and tied the door shut, using a pipe to make it hold. The fridge shook and the rattle and clink of more beer bottles appearing had Merle giving up. He left the kitchen, snatched up the bag of cash, grabbed Donna’s hand, and headed for the door.

         The front door burst open and the police swarmed inside.

         “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell!?” Merle exclaimed as he was shoved into a wall and patted down. “I ain’t done nothin’!”

         “Bingo! Look at this,” an officer said with a smirk, lifting up the bag Merle had dropped. “The money from the robbery.”

         “Hold on a sec—No! I didn’t rob any god damn bank,” Merle protested as he was handcuffed. “It just appeared! I’ve been in my apartment all day! These people can vouch for me, right?” He looked around wildly.

         Allen’s family bowed. “Yes, Master,” they intoned.

         The cops looked at Merle like he was a deranged maniac.

         “I was here, havin’ a beer with _friends_!” Merle insisted.

         The fridge decided that moment was the perfect time to erupt. Beer exploded forth from the door, destroying the thing completely. Gas filled the apartment from where the wires had yanked off the nozzle from the pipe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “You know, I think you’re still holding back,” Sasha said, tone patient but prodding. “What’s _really_ troubling you?”

         Rick shook his head and stood. “Doc, I met this...amazing man. Amazing is an understatement, to be fair. But...”

         Sasha nodded encouragingly, smile kind. “Come on. You can say it, this is a safe place.”

         “I… I’m not sure if I want to love him or—or _eat_ _him!_ ” Rick confessed, burying his face in his hands.

         Sasha blinked. “Oh.”

         “Of course I blame my parents, they were both enormous,” Rick said, unable to help himself. “Couldn’t stop eating. Everyday after school it was always ‘eat this, eat that, eat _her!’_ ”

         “You shouldn’t punish yourself,” Sasha said with a wary half smile.

         Rick paced. “No, I should. I’ve been terrible… But I want to change.” He stopped and turned to Sasha. “I want to be a good person.”

         Sasha stood and grabbed a piece of paper. She wrote a few things down and handed it to Rick. “Here are a list of books I want you to read. You can come back and see me again next week, okay?”

         “I won’t be here next week,” Rick said.

         “You will.” Sasha ushered him out of the room. “You expressed the desire to change, so I know you will.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl kept shooting looks at Prince as they walked through the park. He’d made sure Carol was alright before leaving—she’d said she’d call the police, make sure that man was found and to just go and leave the dog somewhere else. So that was what he was doing. “Well, this is ‘bout where I found ya, an’ that means yer stayin’ here and leavin’ me the hell alone.”

         Prince gave a soft _boof_ and looked up at him with sad puppy dog eyes.

         “Look, ya ain’t my damn problem,” Daryl snapped, walking away. And of course the dog followed. Daryl stopped and turned on the dog. “Stop followin’ me! _Stay!_ ” He turned and stomped off, ignoring the pitiful whine behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Ya just give us the name of your dealer and maybe we’ll go easy on ya,” the officer said, leading Merle down the hall.

         “Dealer? I ain’t on drugs,” Merle said, offended. Well, not this time anyway.

         “Uh-huh, sure,” another office replied. “Merle Dixon, not on drugs. Then explain how you don’t remember stealin’ all that money, hmm? Tellin’ us that wasn’t the work of some bad Magic Mushrooms?”

         “Magic _bean_ ,” corrected Merle with a huff as he was herded down stairs.

         “I’ve almost fixed the elevator, Master,” the old woman from before called as he passed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Paula stood with an angry snarl. “We _will_ break this spell! Trust me.” She held out her fist.

         “I trust you,” Gavin said, clasping her fist.

         “I trust you more,” Dwight promised, placing his hand on top of both of theirs.

         Gavin shot him an annoyed look. “No, I trust you more,” he said, putting his hand on top.

         “I trust her more.”

         “ _I_ trust her more!”

         “I’ve always trusted her more!”

         “Suck an elf!” Paula growled, throwing their hands off. Pissed, the three slammed at the walls again.

         Lights flickered on and the room rumbled to life.

         “We’re moving,” Gavin said, looking around in awe.

         Paula’s eyes widened. “We’re going down.”

         “Is that good or bad?” Gavin wondered.

         Dwight pulled out his knife. “We’re about to enter the Underworld. Prepare yourselves.”

         The other two took out their own weapons and moved back. The room stopped. A small ding echoed throughout and the doors slid open. They charged out, weapons at the ready.

         “Wait...” Gavin stood from his crouch. “This isn’t the Underworld, you idiot. This is where we came in.”

         And it was. They could see the doors that led outside from where they stood.

         “Magic indeed,” Paula said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Hey, couldn’t we make some sorta deal?” Merle asked.

         The police officers, a tall man with shaved hair and a prominent nose and a short woman that Merle assumed was a lesbian, in the front of the cruiser exchanged an annoyed look.

         Merle leaned forward. “Look, I could get you anythin’ you wanted. Really, whatever you wanted. Houses, boat, cars... _women._ ”

         The officer driving shook his head.

         “Won’t do you any good trying to bribe us,” the female officer said with a sneer.

         “Rug muncher,” Merle muttered under his breath, leaning back in his seat. He sighed. _Wait a minute,_ he thought. _I still have wishes left._ “I wish I could escape from this police car, right now.”

         “Can you believe this guy, Walsh?” the woman snorted.

         Walsh chuckled and made to swerve around some obstruction in the road. “Hey...” He stomped harder on the breaks. “Shit, Chambler, the breaks aren’t workin’!”

         The cruiser crashed through a bunch of stands on the edge of a park until it crashed right into a large truck. Merle kicked the back door open and scrambled out.

 

         Rick had just managed to dive out of the way, books clutched to his chest, as the stands of the flea market were destroyed by one of those strange carriages this world had. And then he spotted someone familiar running from the scene of the crash. Merle. Ignoring the woman shouting for him to pay, Rick dashed after him, books falling this way and that.

 

         Daryl threw up his hands. “I told ya I can’t take ya back where ya came from!”

         Prince barked back at him.

         “Nah, I’m done. I’m done!” Daryl stepped through the bushes and stomped across the grass. He frowned. A figure was running his way, followed by a slew of police officers. “Merle?”

         “Shut it, we gotta go!” Merle snapped, sprinting past him.

         Daryl shook his head, but followed. “What’s goin’ on? The hell ya do this time, Merle?”

         “Fuck off, ain’t done nothin’ this time,” Merle replied, ducking into the trees. “Hey, wait, is that the dog that freak wanted?”

         “I don’t...I don’t think he is a dog,” Daryl said, crouching down beside Prince in the bushes. “It’s like he’s tryin’ to say somethin’, but I don’t know what.”

         Merle hunkered down next to him. “Tryin’ to talk, huh? Let’s see...” He thought for a second, then nodded. “Okay. I wish I could understand everythin’ this dog is sayin’.”

         Daryl raised an eyebrow. “What?”

         “ _You’re in danger! Both of you!_ ”

         Merle’s eyes widened. “It worked.”

         “ _If you value your life, you have to do exactly as I say.”_

         Daryl wondered how high his brother was. He could get crazy when high, sure, but he’d never tried to speak to animals before. “Merle...”

         Merle waved at him impatiently. “Shh! I’m tryin’ to listen.”

         “ _We have to find the way back._ ”

         “He’s talkin’! Can’t you hear it?” Merle demanded.

         “No,” Daryl muttered, looking back as the sounds of the police officers grew closer. “Why the hell are those guys after ya?”

         Merle rolled his eyes. “They think I robbed a bank.”

         “What?” Daryl looked at him with a frown.

         “ _Would you two shut up and help me find the mirror?_ ” Prince barked and ran off.

         Daryl huffed, exasperated, as Merle hurried after the dog. This day just kept getting better, clearly.

         “We’re lookin’ for a magic mirror,” Merle said, looking back over his shoulder.

         “’Course we are,” Daryl sighed.

         “ _Look for a piece of forest that doesn’t fit._ ” Prince circled a tree and let out a triumphant bark. “ _Here it is!_ ”

         Daryl and Merle came to a stop. In front of them the air rippled and waved like it would above the pavement on a hot summer day.

         “There they are!”

         Daryl and Merle turned to see the trolls running towards them, weapons held high. They were followed by the police.

         “ _Follow me!_ ” Prince leaped through the patch of strange air and disappeared.

         “What the hell?” Daryl shook his head.

         “He said to follow him,” Merle translated. And then he stepped through the portal thing and disappeared.

         Unable to think of an alternative, Daryl followed.


	4. Chapter 4

         Daryl and Merle stood in the dark, dirty, stone room that had most definitely _not_ existed a moment ago. Prince stood a little ways away, blue eyes blinking up at them.

         “Where the hell are we?” Daryl looked around, brows furrowed.

         “Damn well ain’t Kansas,” Merle muttered. He tugged at his handcuffs in annoyance.

         “ _Follow me._ ” Prince turned away and ran through the piles of junk that made the small space even more claustrophobic.

         “Followin’ him again,” Merle said, doing just that.

         Daryl rolled his eyes but followed his brother. They turned a corner and hurried up a flight of stairs. After a maze of hallways with wooden doors, the trio entered what was clearly a dining hall, if the rows of dark wooden tables and benches were any indication. That and the people passed out against them, covered in pink dust, plates and mugs strewn here and there.

         Merle stopped by a pillar. “What happened here?”

         “ _Same thing that happened to you. Troll Dust._ ”

         “Is that dog talkin’ again?” Daryl asked.

         Merle nodded and followed the dog over to a giant map that took up one of the walls.

         “Let’s just go home, Merle. This is… I don’t know what this is, but it ain’t normal,” Daryl said, shaking his head.

         “Go back to what, huh? The police?” Merle sneered. “No thanks, Little Brother. I’d rather take my chances with whatever the hell this is.”

         “ _Sh! I can smell trolls!_ ” Prince whined and crawled under a table.

         “He can smell trolls,” Merle said. He ducked under a different table and Daryl did the same.

         “We’ll have shoe parties where you have to change shoes six times an hour!” Gavin declared, leading the other two through the room.

         “And anyone found having dirty shoes will have their face torn off!” Paula agreed in delighted blood lust.

         And then the three were gone. Turning a corner and stomping down a hall.

         Prince wriggled out from under the table and headed for the door.

         “No, no, wait, I ain’t followin’ you. Where _are_ we?” Merle demanded.

         Clearly annoyed, Prince trotted over to the map. “ _We are in the southern most part of my Kingdom,_ ” he hopped up onto a table and sat, posture regal, “w _here I was attacked by my Stepfather and turned into a dog._ ”

         Daryl trailed a finger over the map to a large red arrow. “You are here. Snow White Memorial Prison?”

         “ _Yes. It houses the most dangerous criminals in all the Nine Kingdoms._ ”

         Merle closed his eyes. “Another prison. Great.” He sighed. “The hell are the Nine Kingdoms?”

         Prince sat up on his hind legs. “ _I am Prince Paul, Grandson of the_ _l_ _ate Snow White, and soon to be crowned King of the Fourth Kingdom. And_ you _are?_ ”

         “I’m Merle Dixon. Janitor,” Merle snarked. “And you already know my brother, Daryl.”

         Daryl was barely paying attention, his gaze roving over the map. Troll Kingdom, Riding Hood Forest, Ice Palace, Snow White Falls… It was weird.

         “Wait, wait, wait, so what is this? Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, fairy tale crap?” Merle shook his head, baffled.

         Prince sat properly again, sighing. “ _Well, the Golden Age was almost two-hundred years ago when the ladies you refer to had their great moments in history. Things have gone down hill since then. Happily Ever After didn’t last as long as we hoped it would._ ” Prince looked at the map. “ _All the other rulers of the Kingdoms are to attend my coronation. The Kingdoms are vast, so some will be traveling long distances. No-one crosses the borders except on special occasions_.”

         “So, who was the Stepfather that turned you into a dog?” Merle asked.

         “ _He is the most dangerous and evil man alive._ ”

         Merle snorted. “Could say the same ‘bout our Ol’ Man. ‘Sept he’s dead, so maybe you can’t.”

         “ _We can’t sit around talking all day!_ ” Prince climbed down off the table, fluffy tail smacking Daryl’s legs as he passed. “ _We have to find my Stepfather’s cell. This way._ ”

         Daryl looked at Merle. “Now what? Follow ‘im again?”

         “Yep.”

         The three made their way through another set of hallways, Merle relaying the information to Daryl. Daryl had to admit Paul seemed to know where he was going. And he was really beginning to doubt that Merle was making shit up.

         “ _Ah, here it is._ ” Paul gave a soft bark, leading them into an open cell. He stopped and nudged a dirty old dog bowl with his nose. “ _This belongs to the dog that’s got my body._ ”

         “What did this jackass do?” Daryl asked, looking around the cold cell. This place was less prison, more dungeon.

         “ _He bashed my father’s head in and poisoned my mother._ ” Paul whined and ducked his head. “ _Tried to kill me, too._ ”

         “Uh, killed his mom an’ dad, an’ then tried to kill him,” Merle repeated.

         Daryl felt a weird wave of dizziness hit him. “This damn cell is makin’ me feel weird. I’mma wait out in the hall.”

         “ _Trolls were here._ ” Paul huffed and sat down.

         “Well don’t go too far,” Merle told him, looking around the cell himself.

         Daryl waved him off as he stepped into the hall. He could look after his own damn self. Hell, half the time he looked after Merle too. A pink sparkly dust hit him in the face and Daryl’s world went dark. The last thing he heard was Merle’s shout and a door clanging shut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Negan paced outside the carriage. “Where are those idiots? I mean, my _god_ , how difficult is it to catch _one_ _damn dog?_ ” he growled. “Can’t trust trolls to do jack shit.”

         “Excuse me, but I’m the only reason you got outta that place,” Simon said, crossing his arms, those ugly magic shoes clutched in one hand.

         “Of course,” Negan said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I am _truly_ grateful, Your Majesty. But I can’t wait around for your nephews and niece to get back. Because believe me, it would _not_ go well if someone saw Prince Paul like _that._ ”

         The dog masquerading as Prince Paul barked and rolled on the ground, tongue lolling out. He sat up and crawled over to sniff at one of the footmen.

         Negan shook his head. “The _moment_ they get back? You bring them to me.”

         “I’m not your lackey,” Simon snarled. “I am Simon the Troll King. And you’d do well to remember it.”

         “I do remember,” Negan replied. He sucked on his teeth before smirking. “And I will reward you with something _big_ if you do this little favor for me. Half of Paul’s Kingdom! That sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. What do you say, Your Majesty?”

         Simon nodded and smiled. “Good. As long as I get it soon.”

         “Sure thing.” Negan turned and headed for the carriage. “Now I have to go, I’ve stayed way too long already.” He smacked the back of the dog’s head. “Get in the carriage!”

         “You know they’ll be checking every carriage in the Kingdom when they realize you’ve escaped,” Simon told him.

         Negan leaned out the window. “Not every carriage.” He smacked the roof and settled back into the carriage, pulling the hood of his cloak up.

         Simon watched as they drove off onto the wooded road.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Stop it! Lemme go!” Merle struggled against the guards as they hauled him from the cell and down the hall. “I didn’t do shit!”

         “There was some kind of spell. Laid us up for over a day,” one of the guards said as they entered a large room. “Searched every inch of the prison, but the King’s gone, sir.”

         Merle spat at them as he was shoved behind a low wall of spikes. He could see Paul being led to a corner with a rope.

         The man that had been hidden by the light streaming through the barred window leaned forward against a desk. Tall, slicked back brown hair, and an eye-patch; the man stared Merle down with his one good eye. “I have been the Governor of this prison for twelve years,” he drawled. “No prisoner has ever escaped before.”

         “That’s very impressive,” Merle sneered. He wasn’t one to intimidate easily, but there was something very unsettling about the Governor. Not that Merle would admit it.

         “ _Merle, what ever you do, do_ not _tell them I’m a dog,_ ” Paul said, ducking his head in an attempt to not draw attention to himself.

         “Why not?” Merle whispered back.

         “Speak when you’re spoken to!” A guard snapped.

         “ _The King has some terrible plan, my whole Kingdom may be in danger. No-one can know I’m helpless._ ”

         The Governor strolled over to Merle, stretching his hands. “This can be a lot less painful, all you need to do is tell me where the King is.”

         Merle rolled his eyes. _Fuck this,_ he thought. “I wish Me an’ Daryl were back home in our apartment in Atlanta, right now!”

         Nothing happened.

         The Governor’s eye narrowed and he tilted his head. “Well. It seems you aren’t,” he remarked.

         Before Merle could respond, his stomach lurched and he coughed. His throat hurt, causing him to hack and choke. Merle’s hands twitched in his handcuffs, unable to smack at his chest to help whatever the hell was causing the coughing get out. With one last cough the Magic Bean flew from his mouth and pinged against something behind the desk.

         “ _Oh no, Merle. Tell me you didn’t eat a Dragon Dung Bean?_ ” Paul pressed his paw over his snout.

         The Governor gave Merle a disgusted look before going back to his desk. “I’ll ask only one more time: How did the King escape?” he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk.

         “I have no damn clue!” Merle barked back.

         “Then why were you found locked in his empty cell?” the Governor demanded.

         Merle shook his head. “I’m an innocent victim. I ain’t ever been in trouble with the police in my entire life,” he lied with a sneer.

         The Governor arched an unimpressed brow. “Then why are you wearing handcuffs?”

         Damn, how had he forgotten the handcuffs? Merle wished he could smack his own head for that one.

         “ _How in the world did I get stuck with this moron?_ ” Paul sighed.

         Ignoring the comment, Merle decided for once, truth was probably the best policy. “Look, I ain’t even from this dimension! I was lead here by that dog,” he gestured to Paul with his head, “who is actually Prince Paul.”

         “ _I told you no to say that,_ ” Paul whined, lying down on the cold stone floor.

         “Prince Paul?” the Governor repeated, tone heavy with disdain. He approached Merle once again. “Look. I can make you break rocks with your teeth for a hundred years.”

         Merle huffed. “I ain’t lyin’!”

         “ _That_ is the King’s dog. He has been permitted to keep him in his cell for three years,” the Governor said. “Do _not_ insult my intelligence.”

         “I ain’t,” Merle protested. “Look, I’ll prove it.” He turned to Paul. “Bark once if I’m tellin’ the truth.”

         Paul blinked. “ _I’m not barking, Merle._ ”

         “He’s bein’ an ass!” Merle snapped. “But I’m tellin’ the truth, dammit! You gotta let me go, my brother was abducted by trolls!”

         “Enough!” The Governor returned to his desk. “I will get the truth out of you. For now, though, Caesar remove his handcuffs.”

          One of the guards stepped behind Merle and removed them.

         “Give him the prison uniform and put him in...” The Governor trailed his finger through a book. “Ah. That’ll do. Put him in 103 with Abraham the Dwarf, and Glenn the Goblin.”

         “And the King’s dog, sir?” Caesar asked as Merle was hauled from the room by the other guards.

         “Start up the furnace,” the Governor replied. “I’ll slip some rat poison in his dinner tonight.”

 

         “Middle bunk,” the guard said, shoving Merle—newly dressed in the drab, gray prison jumpsuit—into his new cell.

         Merle flipped him off, but the door was already shut. He looked over at the rickety wooden bunk bed and grimaced. On the bottom bunk was a large lump of a blanket, a shock of red hair sticking out from underneath. And on the top bunk Merle could just make out the slope of a back. Merle sighed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to this sort of thing by now. He trudged over to the bunk bed and climbed into the middle bunk; the way it creaked under his weight worried him a little.

         The cell was incredibly small for three people. Or one person, a goblin, and a dwarf as it so happened. Light filtered in through one window high in the wall, too tall for Merle to reach. And one wall had a little painting of a man that looked remarkably like Jesus. It had the words “Work Hard and Honestly” printed on it.

         “So,” grunted a deep voice from the bottom bunk, “what’re you in for?”

         Merle snorted. “What is this, a damn movie?” Still, he didn’t know who these guys were and what they were capable of. “A whole hell of a lot of things,” he finally settled on. “You?”

         “Aggravated assault.” The bunk whined pitifully. A hulking man with a bushy handlebar mustache to match his bright red hair stood and faced him, muscles bulging as he crossed his arms. “I’m very easily aggravated. The name’s Abraham.”

         Never one to hold back on offensive comments, Merle asked, “Wait, ain’t you supposed to be a dwarf?”

         Abraham smirked. “Dwarf among giants. Half giant in my case, but still.” His smirk faded and he pointed a thick finger at Merle. “You can just call me Abraham, ‘cause I don’t give a monkey’s left nut who you are or what you’ve done, I will tear you a brand new asshole if you call me a dwarf.”

         Merle was strongly reminded of the kind of guys he’d known in the army. As much as he’d love to throw down with this jackass, he had to think of getting out. Daryl could usually take care of himself, but this was a very weird world and he’d been kidnapped by trolls. “Fine.”

         Abraham nodded, appeased, and flopped back down on his bunk, causing the whole thing to shake.

         “Do you like carving?” asked a soft voice from above.

         Merle frowned. That must be the goblin. Unless that was another nickname. “What kinda carvin’ we talkin’ about?”

         The ladder creaked. An Asian guy peered down at him and held out a lump of...something. “It’s not finished, but I’m getting there,” he said with a smile. A smile that revealed needle sharp teeth. If it weren’t for those and the pointed ears, he could have easily passed for human.

         “Great,” Merle deadpanned.

         “I’m Glenn,” the kid said.

         “Merle. Uh, what’re you in for?”

         “Carving.” Glenn replied and smiled again. “I think we should try to get along while we’re all in here. Heck, maybe we could even be friends.”

         Merle blinked. How the hell had this guy ended up in prison? “Whatever.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Gregory—Mayor of Beantown—stood on the wooden platform built in the town square. He looked up at the golden welcome banner and grinned, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his newly tailored black pants in smug satisfaction. He’d put on his best waistcoat and jacket, shined his shoes, and even donned the Beantown beanstalk gold locket. Soon Prince Paul would arrive and he’d be able to schmooze his way into getting that new office he wanted.

         An hour passed.

         Two hours.

         As the third hour ticked by, his people started to murmur in confusion. Gregory raised his hand. “Any minute now, Prince Paul will arrive to receive his coronation throne,” he said with a strained chuckle as he gestured to the ornate gold throne with plush blue seats, “that our wonderful craftsmen have spent the last _two years_ making.”

         “He’s not coming, is he?” Neil asked from the crowd.

         “Of course he is,” Gregory soothed with a shake of his head. He descended the steps and patted Neil on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure he’s being delayed for a very good reason.”

         “Terrible news!” Kal pushed through the crowd and stopped before Gregory. “There’s been a breakout from the prison! The King has escaped!”

         “The King?” Dread filled Gregory. How was he supposed to get his new office if the King was wreaking havoc on the Kingdom?

         “Good news!” It was Eduardo shouting this time. “Prince Paul is coming!”

         Gregory sighed. “Thank goodness. He’ll know what to do.” He turned and hurried back up onto the platform.

         The royal carriage rattled along the dirt road, lead by a team of snow white horses in all their glory.

         Gregory adjusted his jacket and stood up straight and tall with a broad grin. Which fell as the carriage promptly drove past them, Prince Paul sticking his head out the window, tongue hanging out of his mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

         Merle grumbled swears as he scraped and scrubbed at the hallway floor. How the hell was he supposed to make this whole hall clean in half an hour? He dunked the brush into his bucket and smacked it against the floor. At least the uniform was thick enough to keep his knees from aching too much.

         “ _Psst, Merle._ ”

         Frowning, Merle stopped his scrubbing. He looked around. That had sounded like Paul.

         “ _Over here!_ ” came Paul’s voice again, from behind the door Merle was kneeling in front of. “ _I’m behind the Governor’s door._ ”

         “How’d you know it was me?” Merle asked, keeping his voice low in case someone happened to be nearby.

         Paul’s nose peeked out from under the wooden door. “ _You have a distinct unwashed smell. That and your voice is incredibly recognizable. What are you doing?_ ”

         Merle rolled his eyes. “Scrubbin’ the damn floor.”

         “ _Have you got a bar of soap?_ ” Paul asked.

         “Yeah. What, you want me to wash _you?_ ” Merle snarked.

         “ _No. Give me a second. Don’t go away._ ” Paul’s nose disappeared. A few moments later a key dropped to the ground and Paul nudged it through the gap. “ _This is the Governor’s key. Make an impression in the soap. Do it quick._ ”

         Merle had an idea where this was going. He snatched up the key and pressed it into the soap bar. Once he had a nice impression, he slid the key back under the door. And just in time. Caesar rounded the corner a second later, dog bowl in hand. Merle gave an innocent smile. As innocent as any of Merle’s smiles could be, anyway. “Just washin’ the floor. There’s a real stubborn stain right here.”

         Caesar didn’t reply; instead he shook his head and entered a room across the hall.

 

         When dinner time rolled around, Merle found himself not only squished between Abraham and Glenn, but across from some new, more or less human faces. Abraham had introduced them as Axel, Oscar, Tomas, Andrew, and Big Tiny. He lifted the wooden spoon from his bowl, slimy green mush dripping from it. Merle wasn’t picky by nature, but even he was wary of whatever that stuff was. “What _is_ this?”

         “Baked beanstalk,” Glenn said, eating a spoonful himself.

         “Baked beans?” Merle took a bite and gagged at the taste that was both bitter and sour.

         “Bean _stalk_ ,” Abraham smirked. “May be nastier than a yeti’s ball sack, but you’ll get used to it.”

         Merle very much did _not_ want to know if Abraham was being literal. “Fuckin’ tastes like an old mattress!”

         “Nah. Old mattress has a sweaty, meaty taste,” Axel said, taking a swig of whatever was in his metal cup.

         Glenn nodded. “He’s right.”

         “How often is this shit on the menu?” Merle asked, wiping at his mouth.

         Tomas snorted. “Three times a day.”

         Hoping the murky water would help get rid of the taste, Merle took a drink from his cup. And promptly spit it back out.

         “Beanstalk juice,” Oscar informed him.

         Merle gave up. He’d eat when he escaped. Merle leaned towards Glenn. “Hey, let’s say I wanted somethin’ made. Somthin’ metal. Who would be the guy to talk to ‘bout that?”

         “You want annythin’ bought, sold, borrowed, or made in here, you gotta talk to the Tooth Fairy,” Big Tiny said.

         Merle blinked and frowned. “The who?”

         “Prison dentist,” Abraham explained.

         “Okay… An’ just how am I supposed to see ‘im?” Merle hoped to hell it was simple.

         Tomas raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s easy,” he said, and gestured for Merle to lean closer.

         “Yeah?”

         “Yeah.”

         Merle’s head snapped back with the force of the punch Tomas delivered to his mouth.

 

         When Merle pushed open the Tooth Fairy’s door, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but a nerdy little man with small round glasses and large dragonfly-like wings sprouting from his back wasn’t it.

         “Ah, hello,” the Tooth Fairy greeted with an awkward smile. He gestured to a wooden chair with a hole in the seat. “Please, sit, we’ll get started right away.”

         Merle took in the room as he did so. It wasn’t very reassuring. There was a table full of sharp instruments that he was quite sure _weren’t_ for dentistry, a big shelf full of jars, and some weird thing that looked like it belonged more in a hair salon.

         “You’ve got a broken tooth, was it?” the Tooth Fairy asked. He turned the chair so that it was in the light. The Tooth Fairy leaned close, adjusting his glasses.

         “Yeah.” Merle jumped as the Tooth Fair strapped his hands down to the chair. “What’re you doin’? The hell are those for?”

         “The, ah, Straps of Comfort,” the Tooth Fairy said with a little laugh. “Now, tooth decay is caused by three things.” He turned and walked over to one wall and tapped at the poster on it depicting a human mouth and a not-so-human mouth. “Number one, poor diet. Number two, not brushing properly, and number three...” the Tooth Fairy pulled down another poster, “bad fairies.”

         Merle sighed. “You know, I don’t think I—”

         “Ah, I nearly forgot. Here, let me take care of that tooth.” The Tooth Fairy leaned over Merle and reached into his mouth. “Does this hurt?”

         Merle gave a muffled yelp as his tooth was wiggled.

         “Right,” the Tooth Fairy said, backing up. “Let’s try this.”

         Before Merle could form a response, the Tooth Fairy had rushed forward and—with way too much enjoyment—yanked the tooth out. “Fuck! _Ah!_ Ow!”

         The Tooth Fairy dropped Merle’s tooth into a bowl with a little _plink_ and unstrapped him. “Now, don’t worry, I have some magic teeth.” He picked up a box and flipped it open, showing an array of teeth in several sizes and shapes, but all, surprisingly, a nice white.

         “Nice,” grunted Merle. “Look, I came to you fer help.”

         “Help?” the Tooth Fairy tilted his head.

         Merle hissed at the pain in his mouth as he pulled the bar of soap from his jumpsuit. “I need—ah—I need a key made. Outta this.”

         The Tooth Fairy eyed the soap curiously, then looked up at him. “The Governor would be very upset if he learned about this...” He hummed thoughtfully. “What’s it worth?”

         Merle wanted to beat the shit out of him, but refrained. He didn’t have any money so… “I have this,” he took off the Rolex and held it out, “it’s a, uh, hand worn clock. See the little hands go around an’ it tells the time.”

         The Tooth Fairy sniffed derisively and walked over to a cabinet. Opening it, he revealed multiple watches all hanging inside, ticking away. “We call them ‘watches’.”

         “...But this is solid gold,” Merle insisted. How was he supposed to have known this backwards place knew what watches were?

         The Tooth Fairy took it and eyed it. “Well, as long as it’s not one of those cheap imitations.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The candles flickered in their chandeliers, shining warm light down on the palace meeting room.

         “Do you mean to say he drove straight through Beantown without stopping?” Lord Ezekiel asked, looking to Lady Deanna who sat to the left of him at the long, shining, dark wood table.

         “That was on Wednesday, Lord Chancellor, and he hasn’t been seen since,” she replied, shaking her head and setting aside the scrolls and books that had been spread open. “The throne makers are furious and are threatening to boycott the coronation.”

         Lord Eric sighed; his royal purple suit stood out among the deep blues of the others. “It’s so unlike the Prince not to send word of where he is.”

         “Perhaps it’s just coronation nerves,” suggested Lord Aaron, looking from his husband back to Lord Ezekiel. “He may turn up soon.”

         Lord Ezekiel stood and walked to the map that was placed on a stand at the head of the table.

         “Let’s not forget that the Evil King is now at large,” Lady Deanna said.

         “Where _is_ Paul?” Lord Eric stood, upset. He gestured to the painting of the prince on the wall which was framed by beautifully draped gold curtains. “Where is he in his Kingdom’s greatest hour of need?”

         “Things look very bad,” Lord Ezekiel said, head bowed.

         “Terrible,” Lady Deanna agreed.

         Lord Aaron sighed. “Just terrible.”

         Lord Ezekiel turned back to the others with a hopeful smile. “Still, I expect it will all turn out Happily Every After,” he said, trying to cheer them up as he passed them on his way to the other end of the table.

         Lord Eric nodded to him before standing. “Now, on to another crisis. There is a shortage of bluebells throughout the Kingdom,” he announced, golden epaulets flaring as he turned to pick up a set of colored cloth. “My color scheme for the coronation will have to be _completely_ re-thought.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl grimaced and gave a low groan as his awareness of the world returned.

         “He’s awake,” commented an unfortunately familiar voice.

         Blinking, Daryl only barely managed to see he was in a large, round room, before the back of chair he was strapped to was yanked backwards. He looked down to see his vest and shirt had been removed and on his stomach had been stamped the words “Troll Toy”.

         “You’re a captive of the merciless trolls,” Gavin said, crouching down by Daryl’s head.

         “Merciless,” Paula agreed, sharpening her knife.

         Dwight glared down at him. “Who runs your Kingdom?”

         “Kingdom? What Kingdom?” Daryl tugged at the straps on his wrists. There was no give.

         “Who’s in charge?” Paula growled, digging her knife into the heel of Daryl’s bare foot.

         Daryl swore and flinched. “Fuck! I don’t—the President?”

         “Prince Paul was trying to rally an army with help from _your_ Kingdom to attack us, wasn’t he?” Paula sneered.

         Gavin, who’d taken a swig of something from a metal mug spewed it out over Daryl, who jerked his head to the side. “This is going to be a _long_ torture session.”

         Daryl grimaced. “The hell ya want from me?”

         “Torture first, then you talk, it’s better that way,” Dwight said as Gavin rounded the chair.

         “Rush a torture, ruin a torture,” Paula chimed in with a grin.

         The door to the room swung open. Daryl couldn’t see who entered, but the footsteps stomping across the floor told him someone _was_ there.

         “Uncle’s here,” Gavin muttered to the others.

         “Hey, uh, Uncle, why don’t you take off the shoes?” Dwight suggested.

         “With these shoes I am all powerful.” With gears clanking, a large iron door in one of the other walls slid up to reveal a closet full of shoes. “I can rule the world.” Once the door was up, a tall troll with a large mustache appeared, having stepped out of a pair of ugly gold shoes. Gavin, Paula, and Dwight rushed over as he swayed, looking a little drunk. He shrugged them off and placed the shoes on a pedestal inside the closet. “Where have you been? You’re a day late!”

         The three trolls stammered and stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse.

         “Who’s this?” the Troll King—the crown gave it away—demanded as he approached Daryl. “You were supposed to bring back the dog.”

         “Forget the dog,” Gavin said, shoving the back of the chair up. “We discovered another Kingdom.”

         “The mythical Tenth Kingdom,” Paula added with a pleased smile.

         Dwight nodded. “Talked about only in myth.”

         “Don’t talk rubbish, there is no Tenth Kingdom,” the Troll King snapped.

         “No, there is,” Dwight insisted. He jabbed a finger in Daryl’s direction. “And this warlock put us in a box of matches!”

         The Troll King rounded on them. “You were captured? By this,” he sneered at Daryl, “ _human?_ ”

         “He’s a warlock!” Paula said.

         “How many of their soldiers did you kill before you were captured?” the Troll King asked.

         Gavin waved his hand in a vague gesture.

         “None,” Dwight replied.

         “None survived!” Paula corrected and Gavin nodded in agreement.

         The Troll King stood at his full height. “Who wants to be whipped first!?”

         “Wait, wait, wait,” Gavin said, turning. He scooped up a bag. “Look at this!”

         Daryl watched the trolls gather in a small circle. This was fucking nuts. How had he managed to get into this situation?

         Gavin pulled out what Daryl could see was an iPod. He held it up as though it were some great treasure and turned it on. Clapping started up. The Troll King jumped back, eyes wide.

 

_We’re on_ _E_ _asy_ _S_ _treet!_

_And it feels so sweet!_

_Cause the world is but a treat,_

_When you’re on_ _E_ _asy_ _S_ _treet!_

 

         “They are called The Collapsable Heart Club,” Dwight said as he bopped his head along to the music.

         Paula nodded. “And the song, it concerns a party on a train filled with gravy and champagne!”

         The Troll King looked at the device thoughtfully. “There’s more to all this than the King is telling me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle couldn’t stop his tongue from rolling over his new front tooth over and over again as he crept down the hall towards the Governor’s door. He checked around and then leaned against the door. “Paul, I got the key,” he whispered.

         “ _Excellent_ ,” Paul replied. He crouched down and poked his nose through the gap in the door. “ _The Governor’s in the kitchen making another poison dinner. Quick, open the door!_ ”

         Merle crouched down and pushed the key into the lock.

         “ _There are spare uniforms in here. You can put one on and sneak us out of here,_ ” Paul explained.

         The damn key was stuck in the lock. Merle jiggled it. “Fuckin’ key.” He yanked it out to look at it. His stomach dropped.

         “You must really love pain,” the Governor sneered, a bowl of that poison dinner in his hands. “Take him downstairs and give him fifty beanstalk lashes. Right now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl glared up at the Troll King as he approached.

         “You will dance for me,” he declared, looming over Daryl. “And when you finish dancing, you’ll tell me how to invade your Kingdom.”

         Something about the way he said that filled Daryl with unease. “I can’t dance.” He watched the Troll King head into the shoe closet.

         “You’ll dance when you wear these,” the Troll King said with a smirk. He turned, revealing a pair of iron shoes. The Troll King walked over to the fireplace and set the shoes on a rack above the flames. “Wake me when the turn red,” he told the other trolls, and then he left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Negan strolled into the hall of the ruined castle, leaves crunching beneath his boots. He looked over the hall with a smug smile. “Conceal the coach,” Negan ordered Arat, “then prepare a room for the Prince.”

         “Welcome home,” Arat said with a bow. “We have missed you, Your Majesty.”

         Negan shot her a smirk and walked further into the castle, Prince on his heels. They stopped at the base of a sweeping staircase.

         “Who’s that?” Prince asked, looking up at the painting of a beautiful, but severe looking woman with long black hair.

         “She was the Stepmother who poisoned Snow White with the apple,” Negan explained, swinging his scepter to rest against his shoulder. “She was once one of the most powerful women in all the Nine Kingdoms, and _man_ , would you have _not_ wanted to cross her. And this here? This is one of her five castles.”

         Prince tilted his head and blinked. “What happened to her?”

         “Well, when she was finally caught, they heated a pair of iron slippers over red hot coals and made her dance at Snow White’s wedding,” Negan said with grimace. “She crawled out into the snow, dragging her raw, blistered, useless feet into a swamp near by.

         This broken woman was once the fairest of them all. But she kept her magic mirrors, and searched for a successor. And that, of course,” Negan grinned, “was _me_.”

         Prince looked at him with wide eyes.

         “I _will_ finish her work,” Negan promised, “and destroy the House of White forever. And pity the fool who tries to stand up to me!”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone that's reading this and leaving comments and/or kudos! It makes me very happy that people are enjoying this one.

         The setting sun cast a bloody glow over the stones of the castle ruins as it sank behind the forested hills.

_I am dead. But my work is unfinished. The House of Snow White survives. You must complete that work. In the ruin of my castle, you will find the source of my power._

         Negan looked down at the stone star sitting in the center of the courtyard. He placed a lit lantern at each point, and then stepped up onto it. Negan directed his people to get digging.

_These are my gifts. They give you my power._

         The first mirror was uncovered, glinting in the low light. Metal snakes twisted along the edges, jaws open wide.

_Mirrors to travel._

         Negan threw off the cloths covering the second and third mirrors.

_Mirrors to spy._

         A mirror covered in carved faces stared up at him.

_Mirrors to remember._

_Mirrors to forget._

_Mirrors to rule the world._

         Negan stood in front of the uncovered mirrors with a grin. “It is _so_ good to have the power back.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The iron shoes hissed as they were removed from the fire, glowing a bright molten red.

         “Fry tonight, fry tonight!” Paula chanted as she stalked towards Daryl, brandishing the tongs carrying the shoes. “Fry tonight!”

         Daryl struggled in the chair, straining backwards in an attempt to put more distance between him and the trolls. Something sailed through the window and past his head.

_Thunk!_

         Gavin, Paula, and Dwight turned. A tall box sat on the floor a little ways away, wrapped in yellow paper and topped with a red bow. Gavin bent and plucked a little card from the top. “Huh. Listen to this...” He grinned. “A present for the bravest, strongest, troll!”

         “Wait, it smells like something. Like...” Dwight trailed off, an excited gleam to his eyes.

         Gavin and Paula leaned in and sniffed the box.

         “Leather!” the three cheered.

         “Shoes!” Dwight reached for the box.

         Paula beamed. “Or it could be boots!”

         Gavin shoved Dwight away, sending him sprawling to the floor, and pressed his foot up against the side of the box. “And my size by the look of things!” He bent to pick the box up.

         Growling, Paula whacked him over the head with the tongs.

         “Those are mine!” Dwight snarled, leaping at Paula.

         “They’re mine!” Paula snapped back, smacking at him. She stepped back and they eyed each other. “Let’s...flip a coin to decide,” she suggested.

         Dwight nodded. “Yeah, good idea.” They both turned to presumably take a coin from their pockets. And kept turning before socking each other in the faces. The two collapsed.

         Daryl would have been stunned by his good fortune, however he was still stuck in the chair. But the trolls were unconscious now. Maybe he could break his thumbs and slip his hands out. That didn’t solve getting out of the tower, though. Daryl’s gaze landed on the magic shoes.

         A figure swung through the window on a rope.

         It was that guy. The guy who’d broken into Carol’s home! Though he was wearing a brown jacket with a faux fur trim over his denim shirt this time.

         “Hah!” the man dropped the rope—how’d he even get that rigged?—and walked over with a smile. “Rescue is at hand! Or an attempted rescue.”

         “Back off, jackass!” Daryl snarled, backing away as much as possible.

         The man blinked, then smiled again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve had therapy, actually. I have the books to prove it.” He pulled a book from his coat. “Breaking the Cycle,” he pulled out another book, “Heal Yourself In Seven Days, Stop Blaming Yourself Please, and The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection From The Living Dead, which I picked up by mistake.” The man tossed the last one away. “The point is, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

         Daryl glared up at him. “I ain’t afraid! You just wait ‘till I get outta these and then you’ll see how unafraid I am.”

         The man grinned wolfishly. “I think I have some idea what you’re capable of,” he chuckled, eyes sweeping over Daryl’s form. “By the way, I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Rick. Rick Grimes.”

         “Rick _Grimes?”_ Daryl sneered. “You can read all the damn books ya want, but I ain’t goin’ with ya. You tried to kill Carol!”

         “No, that was...a mistake. I wasn’t planing on killing her,” Rick said, unlocking the cuffs on the chair. “I hadn’t eaten in almost a week. I was just a bit on edge. Wolves don’t do well when they’re hungry.”

         Daryl sprung from the chair and snatched up his clothes from the corner of the room, keeping his back to the walls. He yanked on his shirt and vest, then sat down by the shoe closet to pull on his boots.

         “I would never hurt your or your friends,” Rick said. Seeing Daryl’s skeptical glance, he crouched in front of him, tilting his head to make eye contact. “I give you my word, Daryl, ya’ll are safe with me.”

         Daryl snorted.

         Unperturbed, Rick stood. “Now, we need a plan of escape.” He turned and circled the room, stopping by the window. “How are you at climbing? I nearly fell of three times coming up.”

         Daryl rolled his eyes and looked down at the sparkling gold shoes. “These things were awesome, fer bein’ so damn ugly. They made ‘im invisible.”

         “Yeah, I know,” Rick muttered, leaving the window.

         “Yeah, but they made ‘im _invisible,_ ” Daryl repeated, chewing on his bottom lip.

         Rick headed for the doors. “Don’t touch ‘em. They’ll make you wanna wear ‘em all the time,” he warned. He opened the doors. “Balcony or corridor…” Shutting them again, Rick headed back to the window.

         “I ain’t gonna touch ‘em. I just wanna look at ‘em,” Daryl muttered, picking up one of the shoes.

         Rick hurried over and snatched it from Daryl, setting it back on the pedestal. “They’re working on you even now! Just leave ‘em alone.” He snapped his fingers. “Corridor!” Rick opened the doors, heard footsteps, and shut it again. “Balcony then. Quick, someone’s coming!”

         Using the rope from before, which Rick tied to the bars on either side of the balcony, they managed to scale the tall, pale tower wall.

         Daryl had been unconscious on the way there and hadn’t seen just how massive a castle he’d been stuck in. Sitting on the top of a cliff, the castle was full of arches and jagged spires, almost blending in with the mountains around it.

         They ran until they reached a field about a mile from the castle.

         “Daryl, where are you going exactly?” Rick asked, moving to stop Daryl from wandering off into the wild unknown.

         “Back to prison,” Daryl snapped.

         Rick shook his head. “ _Back_ to prison? That wouldn’t be my first choice.”

         “I need to get my brother,” Daryl insisted, trying to walk around Rick. “An’ then I’m goin’ back home!”

         “Alright, alright,” Rick agreed, moving in front of Daryl again and grabbing his arm. “But we can’t go that way.” He sighed. “As strong as I can see you are, you won’t last five minutes out there without me. Now, we have to avoid this road.” Rick gestured to the long, winding dirt road Daryl had been about to follow. “And go this way.”

         Daryl looked out at the dark, sprawling forest where huge beanstalks spiraled out from the tops of the trees. Large black clouds swirled overhead and a flash of lightning lit up the sky. “Yer nuts.” Not that Daryl hadn’t already assumed as much. Still, he could guess why the main road would also be a bad idea. More chances to be caught. “But fine.”

         Rick lead the way into the Bean Forest. A sign on the way in warned them to: BEWARE GIANTS.

         Daryl stopped at the sight of a large statue several feet in. It depicted a young man wielding an axe and smiling. One hand was missing. “Brave Jack,” he read, bending to see the engraving.

         “Jack and the Beanstalk. First Mayor of Beantown,” Rick explained, walking around Daryl and the statue. “You know, this place used to be very prosperous before all the beanstalks sprouted everywhere and polluted the land. The trolls were given it as their Kingdom. That’s why they hate Prince Paul so much. He has a nice, fertile Kingdom and they have a polluted disgusting...” Rick froze. Daryl was gone. “Daryl?” Rick looked around, but Daryl was nowhere to be seen. “Daryl! Shit. Please don’t tell me you took the Troll King’s magic shoes!” Huffing in exasperation, Rick turned around, scenting the air. “Those shoes are _not_ good!” Rick sniffed again and his eyes flashed. “Where are you?”

 

         Daryl slipped through the underbrush. The woods were his home, no matter where they actually were. He was often invisible there, even when completely visible. So with the shoes, now he knew he couldn’t be followed. Until they decided to stop working. He flickered into view behind a tall, skinny tree. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he muttered.

         “Hello again,” Rick called.

         Daryl turned to see Rick walking towards him.

         “They aren’t fully recharged. They don’t stay invisible for very long without a proper break. It’s a design flaw. One of many, actually,” Rick said, leaning around the tree.

         Daryl ran, but Rick caught him. So he elbowed him in the stomach and ran again. Rick rounded the tree and wrapped his arms around Daryl, caging him against the tree. Daryl shoved him off. “You ain’t havin’ ‘em!”

         Rick frowned. “Having what?”

         “The shoes!” Daryl held them away from Rick, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “They’re mine!”

         Rick lunged and grabbed them, yanking them away. He shoved them into his jacket and stepped back. “If you don’t get rid of ‘em now, you won’t be able to later.”

         Daryl shook his head and pressed a hand to his temple. Now that the shoes were out of sight, he felt less weird. Less obsessive. “That was...fuck, yer right. I don’t want ‘em! They made feel so...” Daryl’s hand brushed against Rick’s jacket, “So powerful.” His gaze slid up to meet Rick’s. “How’d ya know where I was?”

         Rick rumbled and leaned closer. “I could smell you.”

         Daryl blinked slowly. “Huh.”

         “Follow me,” Rick said, forcing himself to move away. As he led Daryl through the forest, he explained the place further. “There’re about seventy beanstalks left, but not many are occupied these days. Giants drink so much they rarely have time to reproduce.”

         “Can I ask ya a question?” Daryl spoke up.

         “Yeah, of course,” Rick replied, coming to a stop.

         “Do ya think I’m sexy?”

         Rick’s entire body stiffened. He gave a little huff of breath. Rick turned to see Daryl leaning against a beanstalk, eyes hooded.

         “Ain’t normally so forward but...” Daryl trailed off, stretching his arms over his head so that his shirt road up just a little, showing off a tantalizing strip of skin.

         “Daryl...” Rick growled as he stalked over. “As much as I’d love to believe it’s you talking right now, I know it’s just the shoes. You’d say anything to put ‘em on again.”

         Daryl pressed up against Rick’s front, hands trailing over his stomach. “Lemme have ‘em. Give ‘em back,” he begged, reaching into Rick’s jacket. “C’mon, give ‘em back.” Their eyes met and Daryl returned to his senses. “What the fuck?” He yanked his hand away, as though burned. “Shit, what the hell? I don’t...I don’t know what came over me.”

         “These shoes are very strange,” Rick said, stepping away to give Daryl space. “Magic can have many effects on people.” He frowned and sniffed the air.

         “What?” Daryl asked, looking around.

         “Trolls,” Rick replied. “They found us. And they have dogs! We’ve got to run!” He grabbed Daryl’s wrist and pulled him along.

         “The dogs are on the scent! This way!” the Troll King shouted as he charged through the forest, followed by an army of trolls. “Don’t let them escape again!”

         “We _know_ , Uncle,” Gavin, Paula, and Dwight chorused.

         Paula stopped and tapped Gavin and Dwight’s arms to get their attention.

         “What, you got those Magic Mushrooms?” Gavin asked with a smirk.

         “No, but I’ve got some Dwarf Moss,” Paula said, reaching into her pockets. “And it’ll really blow your head off.” She pulled out a clump of dark, yellow-green moss. “The last time I took it, I saw fairies for _three days!_ ”

         “Nice,” Dwight said, grinning.

         “Roll us a giant,” Gavin told her. “This may be a long night.”

         “You got it,” Paula agreed.

         “Dwight! Gavin! Paula! Where the hell are you!?” the Troll King shouted.

         “Coming, Uncle!”

         Rick and Daryl watched from their perch in a beanstalk as the trolls ran after the rest of the army. “Beanstalk has a potent smell that puts off the dogs,” Rick sighed, pressing his palm to the beanstalk trunk.

         Daryl rolled his eyes. “Don’t have to tell me,” he sad, nose crinkled in disgust.

         “We should wait here for a little while, just to be safe.” Rick looked around, making sure there were no other stragglers.

         Daryl shifted, thighs brushing against Rick’s, and he leaned away. “How’d you get involved in all this anyways?” he asked.

         Rick shrugged. “Found myself at a loose end.”

         “Uh-huh. You were in that prison, weren’t ya?” Daryl raised an eyebrow. “What were ya in fer?”

         Rick looked away. “Nothing I’m proud of.”

         “That ain’t an answer.”

         Sighing, Rick looked Daryl in the eye. “I ripped a man’s throat out.” At Daryl’s wide eyes he held up his hands defensively. “That was a very complicated circumstance! I’d never killed before. Haven’t killed since. Just… It was a farmer. He was attacking a family member. Tried to rape her.”

         Daryl’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh.”

         Rick’s lip curled. “Of course, being a wolf, acting in defense didn’t matter.” He shook his head. “Putting a wolf behind bars for protecting their family… Now that’s inhuman.” Rick pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The night had gotten colder and both their breaths were making little white puffs.

         After a few minutes in semi-awkward silence, Daryl looked at him. “Do ya think, maybe, I should put ‘em on again?”

         Rick eyed him. “What?”

         “Ya know, the shoes. I mean, they’re probably re-charged an’—”

         “No.” Rick

         “C’mon—” Daryl blinked. “What’s _that?_ ” A large, fluffy brown and gray tail twitched and wagged against the beanstalk.

         “It’s just my tail,” Rick said, as though it were normal.

         “Yer tail?” Daryl repeated, unable to look away from the bushy appendage.

         Rick shrugged. “It’s not very big at this time of the month. It’s just a little brush.”

         Daryl knew he’d said he was a wolf but some part of him hadn’t believed Rick. “You’ve got a tail.”

         “Yeah, so?” Rick arched a brow. “You’ve got a perky ass and I don’t go on about that, now do I?”

         Daryl blushed and looked away. Rick had been checking out his ass?

         “You can touch it,” Rick offered. Daryl’s head snapped around. “It’s perfectly normal.”

         “If it’s so normal, why do ya keep it hidden all the time?” Daryl retorted.

         “’cause if you haven’t noticed, people don’t exactly like wolves,” Rick replied. He smiled. “Come on, give it a stroke.”

         Daryl snorted and looked back down at Rick’s tail.

         “It’s not gonna bite,” Rick chuckled.

         Daryl reached over, then stopped. Was he really about to stroke some strange guy’s tail? He supposed it wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened so far. Daryl pet along Rick’s tail, the fur soft against his fingers.

         Rick sighed happily.


	7. Chapter 7

         Merle found himself first in line in the chain gang taking out the trash from the cellar of the prison. He limped along, the sting from the beanstalk whippings still very much present.

         “Everything here must be cleared out,” the Governor told the prisoners as they marched outside. “So you’ve been formed into a human chain. You will chuck everything into that boat.” He pointed to a surprisingly large wooden boat floating in the river outside the prison.

         Merle frowned. “Uh, excuse me?”

         “What?” the Governor asked sternly.

         “We’re kinda far from the boat,” Merle pointed out. He looked back down the line to see vases, pots, and paintings making their way towards them. “Wouldn’t the more fragile shit break?”

         The Governor sneered. “What do you think this is, Dixon? An elves’ underwear party? This is scrap. Now do as you’re told.”

         A troll shoved a bit of pottery into Merle’s hands as the Governor stomped off. Merle looked down at the expensive looking piece and turned back to the boat. He tossed it and winced as it shattered. The mirror would definitely not survive.

         One piece of old, probably priceless, artifact after another was tossed carelessly into the boat. Until, finally, the mirror made its appearance.

         Merle took the mirror and rested it on the ground. If he could just get the thing to work his problems would be solved. He shook the mirror and smacked various points, but nothing happened. “Mirror on,” Merle whispered, desperate.

         “Dixon, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” the Governor demanded.

         Merle couldn’t come up with a good answer. “It ain’t workin’.”

         The Governor’s eye narrowed. “Look you little Prison Princess, throw that mirror on that boat _now._ ”

         Oh how Merle wanted to beat the shit out of that guy. But he couldn’t. “It’ll break if I do that.”

         There was an incredulous pause.

         “Since you have refused to do as you’re told,” the Governor said, striding over, “I am going to push you into that river. Since you’re connected by leg irons to your fellow prisoners, they will also, sadly, drown.”

         The prisoners glared at Merle. And honestly, Merle didn’t give a shit what they thought, he could take them all. But the Governor did have a point. He’d drown before that became an issue. So Merle did the only thing he could do, and tossed the mirror.

         It landed on the boat with a _thunk_ , but remained whole.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick and Daryl crept through the bushes and trees along the side of the hill of the prison. They stopped behind a boulder and peered over it. There didn’t seem to be any guards near by.

         “Alright, you wait here,” Rick said. He grabbed the magic shoes from Daryl. “I’ll put on the shoes and sneak inside.”

         Daryl pulled them back. “No way! You just want ‘em fer yerself!”

         “No I don’t!” Rick held on tight.

         “Yeah, ya do!” Daryl argued, his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the shoes.

         Rick growled. “Okay, yeah, I do. But I’m fighting it, unlike you.” They tugged back and forth on the shoes before Rick had an idea. “Okay, how about I wear them, you hold onto me, and because you’ll be touching me we’ll both be invisible.”

         Daryl yanked the shoes away. “No. _I_ wear ‘em, an’ _you_ hold onto _me_.” He tossed them onto the ground and stepped into the shoes. As he stomped up the steps towards the prison, Rick taking hold of his arm, he felt the strange tingling sensation travel up his body as they disappeared.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle grumbled as he was, once again, shoved into the cell.

         “Bitch nuts!” Abraham and Glenn stood in front of a large hole in the wall, behind the painting Merle had seen earlier. “Now we’ll have to kill him.”

         “Is that a fuckin’ tunnel?” Merle exclaimed. How long had that been there?

         “We’ve been digging it for thirty-one years,” Glenn explained.

         “Look, I ain’t gonna tell nobody, just take me with you,” Merle said. “You can trust me.”

         Abraham didn’t look convinced. “Best we suffocate him in his sleep, I think,” he said to Glenn.

         “That’s a bit extreme,” Glenn replied with a shake of his head. “Besides, I think we can trust him. With this anyway.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed Merle’s hand. Glenn placed something stone into it. The carving.

         “Uh, thanks,” Merle said, unsure of how else to respond as he pocketed the carving.

         Glenn rolled his eyes and he turned to crawl into the hole after Abraham.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         As Rick and Daryl made their way through the prison halls, Daryl couldn’t help but be shocked by just what some of these people were in there for. “Noah the Elf. Ten months for bein’ _cheeky?_ ” he read on one of the doors. “Merle’s gonna be in so much shit.”

         “Well, we can check E block. That’s where new prisoners usually go,” Rick whispered, tugging Daryl down a hall to avoid a guard.

         Daryl spotted another sign. “Martin the Dwarf...Puppy slaying, three years. The fuck? Is Prince—or Paul or whatever—even gonna still be alive?” Below that one. “Gareth. Multiple Murders and Cannibalism. Two-hundred years.”

         Barks echoed down the halls.

         “Wait, that’s him. We gotta get ‘im,” Daryl said. The two found the room the barks were coming from and slipped inside.

         “Daryl, what are you doing?” Rick asked as Daryl untied the rope and pulled Paul over. The magic traveled over the rope and surrounded Paul, turning him invisible. “He’s gonna drain the shoes, and then we’ll be visible.”

         “Well I ain’t leavin’ ‘im behind,” Daryl huffed. He let Paul lead them from the room and through the prison. He could only hope he knew where Merle was.

         “Looks like he found something,” Rick said as Paul stopped outside a door. “Abraham, aggravated assault, eighty-two years. Glenn the Goblin, carving, ninety-three years.”

         “Just great,” Daryl muttered, swinging open the door. “Merle! Ya in here?”

         The three stepped into the cell. And just in time as the magic shoes shorted out and they reappeared.

         “I knew they wouldn’t last long,” Rick said, shaking his head. “And your brother isn’t here.”

         Paul’s barking stopped Daryl from making a snarky reply. He turned and saw him standing in front of a painting. “What is it?” Daryl asked him, looking over the painting. He pushed at it and it swung a little. “There’s a hole here!”

         Rick grinned. “They must’ve escaped through there.” He set the painting aside and climbed into the hole. Paul jumped up behind him and Daryl followed. Rick crawled until he hit his head on something. “Something’s blocking the tunnel!” he called back to Daryl. Or someone. The scent was certainly familiar. “Merle?”

         “Who the hell is that?” Merle demanded, trying to look back. His broad shoulders blocked his view, however.

         “It’s me, Rick. I gave you the Magic Dragon Dung Beans,” Rick replied.

         “Ah great. Just fuck off!” Merle snapped.

         Rick frowned. “How can I do that? We’re stuck in a tunnel.”

         A string of vulgar swears followed that retort. “I’m almost out, just, got stuck on somethin’. You’re gonna have to push me out.”

         “The hell’s goin’ on up there?” Daryl grunted. He couldn’t see around Paul and beyond that it was dark.

         “Your brother’s stuck. Just gimme a sec,” Rick replied. He shifted and shoved against Merle’s ass, pushing him out of the tunnel.

         Merle tumbled out with a shout, smacking his head against the ground. Rick rolled out a moment later. They turned to help pull Paul out after them.

         “Fuckin’ finally,” Daryl muttered, sliding out more gracefully than either of them.

         “Good to see you again, Baby Brother,” Merle said, smacking Daryl’s shoulder.

         Daryl snorted. “Surprised yer still alive.”

         “What, you think ol’ Merle can’t take care of ‘imself?” Merle asked, offended.

         “Yeah, well, we can debate that all we want once we go back an’ get the damn mirror,” Daryl said.

         “It ain’t in there,” Merle told him. “Actually, it should be right over here! I threw it on a trash barge.” He jogged around the wall and down to the river.

         “Which one?” Daryl asked, looking at all the boats.

         “I swear it was right here! Maybe they moved it.” Merle looked around and then let out a groan of frustration. “Fer fuck’s sake! They took it!”

         Indeed, they could see Abraham and Glenn sailing away in the barge. It was already about a mile away, too far to swim to. Especially since there was no way to know _what_ lived in that river.

         “Well, we can take this one here,” Rick said, running over to a large boat with what looked like a little cabin.

         “Good idea,” Daryl agreed, hopping into the boat. Merle grabbed Paul and climbed in after him. Rick picked up the rope and joined them.

         “Don’t let them get away!”

         Daryl turned to see the Troll King shoving Gavin, Dwight, and Paula in their direction.

         “Merle, hurry up!” Rick shouted.

         The three trolls leaped into the river. Gavin managed to grab onto the back and began hauling himself up. Daryl snatched up a wooden plank and whacked him over the head with it, sending him flailing into the water. The boat managed to sail further into the river and the other two were unable to catch up.

 

         “What a pathetic display,” Simon said with a sneer as Gavin, Paula, and Dwight climbed back ashore. “You three are the most—” Searing pain in his head cut off his rant.

         “Are you alright, Uncle?” Paula asked, pushing aside her soaking hair.

         Simon’s hands dropped from his temples. “Mirror… Find me a mirror...” He growled and took off for one of the nearby guardhouses. He smashed open the door, flung the guard out, and staggered over to the mirror in the corner of the room. The glass crackled and a familiar form appeared.

         “About damn time,” Negan said.

         “You do that to me again and I’ll kill you!” Simon snarled.

         Negan didn’t seem phased by the threat. “So? Have those three caught the dog yet?”

         “Not exactly,” Simon replied.

         “Oh, you _do_ surprise me, Your Majesty,” Negan drawled. “How could he possibly escape your _tiny_ little grasp?” He shook his head. “He has to be _caught_. And what the hell are you still doing in Paul’s Kingdom? Get your ass back to your palace, now.”

         As much as it pissed him off, Simon knew it would be a bad idea to keep antagonizing Negan right now. “I’ll get to it,” he said dismissively.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The boat sailed along the calm river. Soaring mountains and lush green forests lined both sides, and a mist rolled out across the water. Daryl sat near the side of the boat, absently picking at the gems on the shoes while Rick read one of those silly self help books. Merle had taken up steering on the other side of the boat with Paul sitting by his knee.

         “Daryl?” Rick spoke up. “Would you say that you’re hungry for love and approval but destined for rejection?”

         “I have no idea what the fuck yer talkin’ about,” Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes.

         Rick lunged, snatching up the shoes and tossing them into the river.

         “The fuck, man!?” Daryl shouted, leaning over the side to reach for them. But they were too far away already. He whirled around and grabbed Rick by the front of his shirt. “What the hell’d you do that fer!?”

         Rick grabbed Daryl’s hands, trying to keep from being tossed out of the boat himself. “I had to! You were already planning on wearing them tonight, weren’t you?”

         Daryl froze and his eyes narrowed. “How’d ya know that?”

         “Magic is nice and all, but it’s very easy to get addicted,” Rick explained, his hold gentling.

         “But...” Daryl looked at the river, then back to Rick. “But why didn’t you want ‘em? How come you were able to resist the shoes, but I wasn’t?”

         Rick looked him in the eye. “Because you have a strong desire to be invisible.”

         Daryl stared at Rick as he walked over to where he’d dropped his book. Shaken, he turned back to watch the ripples in the river.

 

         “ _Merle, I know as my new Manservant you would never let me down, and you’d willingly give your life to save mine,_ ” Paul said, lifting his head to enjoy the wind in his fur. “ _But I was wondering if you’d like to swear a formal oath of allegiance._ ”

         Merle scoffed and took the carving from his pocket. Now that he had a minute he was curious about what it was. And what it was, was a statuette of four familiar figures, one being a dog. At the base it read “The 4 Who Saved The 9 Kingdoms.”

         “ _Destiny has brought us together, that much is obvious. My destiny is to rule the Fourth Kingdom, of course, but what is yours?_ ” Paul asked. “ _Someone as lowly and inconsequential as yourself may still have an important part to play. Even if it is just catering to my every whim._ ”

         Merle grimaced and chucked the carving over his shoulder and into the river.

         Paul’s ears perked up and he turned. “ _What was that?_ ”

         “Nothin’. Fish? I don’t know.” Merle said. “An' I ain’t your Manservant.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Simon strode through the crowd of peasants in Beantown. He smirked, finding their shouted insults about as bothersome as a fly buzzing around his head. His soldiers kept the rabble at bay. For all the people’s anger, they were no match for the Troll Army.

         “I insist you leave,” The Mayor of Beantown said as Simon stepped up onto the platform stairs. “Trolls are not allowed within the 4th Kingdom without proper permits. This is a gross violation of the 9 Kingdoms Treaty.”

         “Shut your mouth,” Simon growled.

         “Unless you leave this instant, I’ll notify Prince Paul and soldiers will be sent,” Gregory blustered.

         Simon nodded, hands on his hips. “That is _quite_ the threat.” He stomped up the last few stairs, curled his fingers into the lapels of Gregory’s suit, and headbutted him. Simon pushed the other men on the stage out of his way and sat himself down on Prince Paul’s throne. “I’m declaring war on the 4 th Kingdom! I challenge Prince Paul to come and face me within seven days, or I will claim his kingdom as my own.”

         The trolls snarled and turned on the people. Simon grinned as he watched his soldiers pillage the town. Everything was going well. Until Negan called.

         “What the _hell_ do you think your doing!?” Negan shouted from the mirror one of Simon’s men was holding up. “We had a _deal!_ I would give you half of Paul’s kingdom if you just did what I fucking told you!”

         Simon grabbed a turkey leg another of his men brought for him and took a bite. “You’ve done fuck all since I broke you out of prison.”

         Negan breathed in through his nose. “It’s important that the coronation goes on according to my plan,” he said, voice tight with irritation. “If you stay in Paul’s kingdom, you’ll ruin everything! Leave Beantown and return to your kingdom!”

         “I might, I might not,” Simon replied with a shrug. “By the way, how are my niece and nephews doing?”

         “Their intelligence and bravery take my breath away,” Negan deadpanned.

         Simon pointed the gnawed on leg at him. “Yeah, well, you look after them. I want them back in one piece.”

         “If you’d just be patient and do what I tell you, you’d have Paul’s kingdom on a damn _plate,_ ” Negan said.

         “But I’m hungry now,” Simon sneered.

         “DUMBASS!” Negan roared.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for still reading this!

         “Rise and shine!”

         Merle swore as loud footsteps hurried down the creaky boat stairs. He sat up to see Rick heading straight for Daryl’s bunk.

         “Sleep well?” Rick asked, eyes sweeping over Daryl.

         Daryl groaned and pushed at him. “No. Just got to bed an hour ago.”

         “I’m sorry to hear that,” Rick replied, moving so Daryl could get up. His gaze dropped to Daryl’s ass as he disappeared into the bathroom.

         “Hey!” Merle snapped.

         Rick turned to him. “What?”

         Merle’s lip curled. “Don’t look at my brother like that.”

         Chagrined, Rick scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was. I can’t help it, exactly. It’s animal magnetism.”

         “Don’t want no damn fury eye fuckin’ my baby brother. Stay away from ‘im,” Merle said, laying back down.

         “How can I do that? We’re on a very small boat.” Rick smirked. “I might bump into him at any given moment.”

         “Will you idiots quit talkin’ ‘bout me like I ain’t here?” Daryl demanded, leaning around the door frame to glare at them both.

         Paul, who’d been watching the whole thing quietly, stood up from his pillow on the floor by Merle’s bunk. “ _Manservant, I need you to take me up on deck. Bring a bucket and a shovel._ ” His claws clicked as he ran up the stairs.

         “I told you I ain’t your Manservant,” Merle grumbled, sitting up and banging his head on the ceiling. “Fuck!” Something clunked open next to his bed. Rubbing his head, Merle rolled out of the bunk and turned.

         A fish tank was situated next to the bunk. And inside was a large, golden fish with rows of razor sharp fangs and spiky fins. Above the tank was a little bronze plate with the words WORLD FAMOUS GOLDEN RIVER GOLD FISH written on it. Considering the size of the tank and the stillness of the fish, Merle figured it was either fake like those singing fish back home, or dead and stuffed.

         “What the fuck is this?” Merle grunted as Rick and Daryl came to see what was going on. He peered into the tank. “One helluva fish… Gold fish? Ain’t like no damn goldfish I ever seen. You think it’s magic?”

         “Yes!” Rick replied, eyes wide. “This is the famous anything-you-touch-will-turn-to-gold fish.”

         Daryl leaned close, pointing to a smaller bronze plate at the bottom. “Huh. Warnin’: Do not break glass, except in case of financial emergency.”

         “Look, look,” Merle said, finding a little scroll sitting inside the tank. “Stick a finger in my mouth, then turn around ‘til you face south. Touch a thing that you would prize, and you will not believe your eyes. Here is magic to behold, all that glitters can be gold.”

         Rick shook his head. “We don’t need to turn anything into gold.”

         Merle raised an eyebrow at him. “We don’t need to—gold is gold! I mean the guy that owned this boat’s gotta be livin’ in the lap of luxury in some Nine Kingdom’s condominium by now with a mountain of gold in his backyard.”

         “I think you’d best leave it alone, Merle,” Rick said. He turned and headed up on deck. Daryl huffed and followed after him.

         “Yeah, yeah, yeah, best leave it alone, Merle,” Merle muttered, eyes never leaving the fish. He picked up the tiny red hammer that rested above the warning and twirled between his fingers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The bright and happy notes of Easy Street filled the air as Gavin, Paula, and Dwight rowed down the river in the boat they’d stolen. However, the catchy tune of the song was drowned out by the three singing along, loudly.

_“And we’re breaking out the good champagne!”_

_“We’re sittin’ pretty on the gravy train!”_

_“And when we sing every sweet refrain repeats...”_

_“Right here...on...easy...”_ The trio trailed off as the music slowed and died.

         “Hey!” Dwight exclaimed, dismayed.

         Paula picked up the music device and shook it. It didn’t work. Pissed off, she chucked it overboard. “Their magic is useless!”

         “Row faster!” Dwight shouted at Gavin.

         “Shut up, Dwight, I’ve rowed all night,” Gavin snapped. “Row faster Paula!”

         Paula turned in her seat to give Gavin a peace of her mind, but something caught her eye. She leaned over the side of the boat and plucked the thing out of the water. “It’s a book!” Paula turned it over to look at the cover. “Finding Happily Ever After: The Secret to the Quest for Love,” she read.

         Dwight nodded. “Nice!”

         Scoffing, Paula rolled her eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick had to lean in close to the small bathroom mirror in order to see what he was doing. Shaving was dangerous if you did it blind.

         “Rick! You makin’ dinner or not!?” Merle called down.

         “Yeah! Yep!” Rick called back, definitely not making dinner. He sheared off a bit of beard, finally getting it to look nice and neat. Rick had a Mate to impress after all.

         The mirror crackled. “ _Hello,_ Rick.”

         Rick jumped, just barely setting the razor down so as not to cut himself. “Go away!” he snarled at Negan.

         “Uh-uh. You obey me,” Negan said with a smirk.

         “No!”

         “Yeah,” Negan chuckled. “I control you. But there’s _something_ that’s been bugging me, Rick. _Why_ can’t I see your friends? What magic is going on?”

         “Is there food or ain’t there?” Merle demanded, stomping down the steps.

         Rick grabbed the mirror and flipped it. Ignoring Merle’s question, he stormed past and up onto the deck.

 

         Merle watched him go with a frown. He was acting weird. Weirder. Shaking his head, Merle searched through the cabinets. “Cereal?” he muttered, pulling out a blue box. Not what he was expecting. And of course it was mostly crumbs. Merle dropped the box on the counter and turned. His gaze fell on the fish. Slowly, Merle made his way over. He leaned down and stared into the tank.

         The fish winked.

         Merle stood up with a nearly silent gasp, eyes wide. That fish had definitely winked at him. It couldn’t have been drugs because Merle had been sober for days now—unfortunately. Maybe it was withdrawals? Shaking his head, he picked up the little hammer again. No, Rick had said the thing was magic. But still, he had to be sure. Merle tapped the glass. “Hey, I saw you wink.”

         Nothing.

         Merle tapped a little harder.

         Still nothing.

         Looking around, Merle determined he was alone. _Alright then._ He smashed the glass, covering the sound with a loud, fake cough. Merle looked back over his shoulder. Neither Rick or Daryl came to see what had happened. Merle turned to the fish again. He reached out, finger hesitating right before the fish’s mouth. “Stop bein’ a pussy,” he grumbled to himself. Merle stuck his finger inside.

         The jaws snapped shut.

         Merle’s shout of pain was cut off as gold shot up his arm. The world went dark. And then it was back. The fish’s mouth opened and Merle yanked his hand back. “Oh hell yeah!” Merle grinned at the sight of his glittering pinky finger.

         “Merle? The fuck ya doin’? Thought I heard a crash,” Daryl said, walking down the stairs.

         “Ain’t done nothin’,” Merle retorted, shifting in front of the tank. “Just, uh, cleanin’ up the glass. The thing broke by accident.”

         Daryl quinted at him, then at the glass, the tank, and then back at Merle. “Did ya put yer finger in that fish?” he asked, frowning.

         Merle grinned. “Okay, yeah, I did.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and held up his finger. At Daryl’s exasperated expression, Merle said, “Come on! We’re rich now! Got ourselves our own personal bank! I could turn this entire boat into gold.”

         “Yeah, an’ then it’d sink an’ we’d all drown!” Daryl snapped.

         “Good point,” Merle conceded. He nodded to himself. “I’ll wait an’ use it on somethin’ good. Then you’ll be thankin’ me, little brother.”

 

         The boat sailed down the river, Merle at the front with a spyglass. Rick and Daryl sat near the back with Paul, both lost in their own thoughts. Until Rick noticed what they were drifting past. “Oh no,” he muttered, looking out at the ruined castle.

         “What?” Daryl asked, standing up next to him.

         “Hey, look! The boat!” Merle shouted, lifting his arm up high and out of the way when they went to look. He pointed at the port village in the distance. “Right there!”

         Daryl took the spyglass and held it up to his eye. And there, as Merle said, was the junk boat, floating against a dock.

         Paul stood with his paws up on the side of the boat. “ _Merle, I feel strange. Like...I’m two people at once._ ”

         “Huh?” Merle turned with a frown.

         “ _I have to go to that castle,_ ” Paul said.

         “What? But it’s just some old ruin. We gotta go after the boat,” Merle protested.

_“No! My human body has to be there!”_ Without waiting for a response, Paul jumped into the water.

         “What’s he doin’?” Daryl asked, brows raised.

         “Paul, come back!” Merle shouted. But Paul kept swimming.

         Daryl felt bad letting him go, but they needed the mirror. “Look, we can’t just follow ‘im. Let’s just go get the mirror.”

         “Good idea,” Rick agreed. “Just let him go do what he needs to do.”

 

         Paul clambered out onto shore. He shook himself and ran up the rocky hill. _I know I’m here!_ he thought, charging into the courtyard. _I can smell me._ Paul followed his scent through the ruins until he found the source. A small window nearly hidden by stones. He got down onto his belly and crept closer, sticking his head through as much as he could.

         The impostor was inside, sitting at a table. He held onto a fork and knife, smacking it around his plate, splattering food everywhere.

_How disgusting._ Paul barked.

         The dog-turned-Prince looked up. He dropped the knife and fork when he spotted Paul in the window.

         “ _You! It’s me!_ ” Paul stood and watched as his body approached.

         “You,” the dog said in awe. He reached up toward the window. “Hello!”

         “ _Yes, good dog._ ” Paul reached back with his paw. “ _Just touch me and we can change back!_ ” But it seemed as though the dog couldn’t understand him. Instead he just waved. “ _No you dumb dog, reach up!_ ”

         Paul sighed. It was no use. Neither could reach, and if he couldn’t even communicate with the dog there was no point trying further. “ _I know you can’t understand me, but I’m going to figure this out. Don’t leave._ ” He turned and ran.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “ _Where_ is Prince Paul?” Negan demanded, glaring at Gavin, Paula, and Dwight.

         “Ah… Yeah… Prince Paul...” Gavin looked uncomfortable.

         Negan stomped down the stone steps of the main hall. “I sent you to go get him!”

         “A noble mission for any troll,” Paula said.

         “So where the hell is he?” Negan snapped. He growled and smacked his scepter into Gavin’s head. “You _idiots!_ ”

         They cowered back, Gavin looking dazed.

         “I had a chat with my mirror. Prince Paul is near,” Negan said, looming over them. “He might even be in Rivertown by now.”

         “Wow, that’s a stroke of luck,” Dwight muttered.

         “Find him!” Negan snarled. “If you return _without_ the dog, I’ll make you _eat_ each others’ hearts.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Abraham and his friend’s been here all morning,” the old man said, stepping carefully onto the rickety boat. “Left less than a half-hour ago.”

         “With the rest of the shit on the boat?” Merle asked.

         “Yep.”

         Daryl sighed. “When’re they comin’ back?”

         The man turned, grinning. “They’re not. They swapped me this nice boat for me horse and cart. I reckon I got a great deal!”

         “Can ya at least tell us which way they went?” Daryl asked, a sense of hopelessness starting to gather in his chest. They’d been so close.

         “The big one said they’d use the road through the forest,” the man replied, pointing out to the trees past the town. “If you hurry you could catch them.”

         “Good idea, let’s go,” Rick said, brushing past Merle with Daryl following after.

         Merle shook his head. “Wait, what about Paul?”

         Rick stopped. “I think he just wants to be on his own. Maybe we should let him.” He glanced back at the road. “Look, the mirror is so close. You really want to miss it?”

         “It just don’t feel right leavin’ ‘im here,” Merle said, moving his hand out of the way as someone walked by. He nodded to himself. “Just give me fifteen minutes.”

         “Merle—”

         “Fifteen minutes!” Merle turned and jogged into the town, hand held high above his head, pinky out. Goats bleated and chickens squawked and flapped out of the way as Merle passed them. “Prince!” he shouted, deciding using that would be less weird than shouting for ‘Paul’.

         “ _Merle!_ ”

         Merle turned to see Paul running towards him.

         “ _I’ve found myself!_ ”

         Which would be all well and good, if a troll hadn’t been right behind him. “Look out!” Merle shouted as the female troll leaped over a cart.

         Paul just managed to dodge her, skidding over the dirt, and around a corner. The third troll swung from a rope in a window, cutting him off. Paul growled and lunged, biting down on his arm.

         “Get the fuck away from ‘im!” Merle ran at them.

 

         “Merle!” Daryl shouted, following the path he’d seen his brother take earlier.

         Rick scented the air. “Merle!”

         “Hey!” Merle called, hurrying up to them.

         “Merle! Did ya find Paul?” Daryl asked.

         Merle hesitated. “Uh, well, I defeated the trolls. That’s the good news.”

         “Okay?” Rick prompted, hands on his hips. “So is there bad news, then?”

         “Do ya think that old guy might have a chisel?” Merle asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

         Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the bad news, Merle?”

         Instead of explaining, Merle led them back the way he’d come. Turning around a shack, he pointed.

         The three trolls were frozen in gold mid run, reaching out for Paul. Who was also coated in gold, and connected to the three by the very tip of his tail.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Negan sat in the dining hall, boots propped up on the table. He rubbed his temple. How was he going to ever get through with this plan when he was surrounded by idiots? The sound of quiet footsteps alerted him.

         “You summoned me, My Lord?”

         “Neither the wolf or those damn trolls have caught the dog yet,” Negan said, looking back at his Hunter. “Someone’s testing me.”

         “Compared to you, My Lord? They’re nothing,” Laura replied, placing her hand on the back of his throne.

         “I can’t see _shit_ in my mirrors, but I know they’ve left the river,” Negan told her, tapping his scepter against the table. “In fact, they’re about to enter your forest.”

         Laura grinned and bowed. “I will find them. Nothing escapes _me_.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

         Sunlight shone through the trees, dappling the leaves and the forest floor. A bird twittered in the distance and something unseen rustled through the bushes. Rick breathed in the bright scent of the earth after a rain. He exhaled, paused, then inhaled again. The book he had read the night before suggested breathing exercises would help tone down impulses.

         Which would have been a lot easier if the acrid smell of smoke hadn’t wafted over. “Merle, you’re burning the bacon,” Rick said, returning to the campfire. He pulled the pan off the fire and dumped the bacon into the bread that was set on top of a stump.

         Merle continued to glower at Paul. “Can’t believe I turned ‘im into a statue,” he sighed.

         Rick nodded. “It’s definitely not a great situation,” he agreed. “But honestly, it’s a simple magic golden fish spell mistake.”

         “But I killed ‘im!” Merle gestured at Paul as though Rick couldn’t see his mistake.

         “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Rick said with an understanding smile. “Things have a way of bouncing back here.”

         Merle eyed him suspiciously. “You ain’t just sayin’ that are you?”

         Sighing, Rick sat up. “Maybe. But still, where there’s magic, there’s always at least a little hope.” When Merle didn’t respond, he shook his head. Rick’s eyes landed on a stick and he smirked. “Wait, let’s try the Prince Alertness Test.” He grabbed the stick and waved it in front of Paul’s face. “C’mon! Come on… Fetch!” Rick tossed the stick.

         Nothing happened.

         Except Merle glaring at him. “That wasn’t funny,” he sneered.

         “It might get funny if we keep on doing it,” Rick replied with a shrug.

         “Are you two still sittin’ on yer asses?” Daryl snapped, stomping over. “Y’all were supposed to get packed up.”

         Merle rolled his eyes. “We’re makin’ sandwiches, keep your panties on.”

         Daryl huffed. “The mirror is gettin’ further away! The longer we wait the less chance we have of gettin’ home.” He grabbed the sandwich Rick had finished making. “Ya got yer sandwiches made, now let’s go.”

 

         Rick ended up leading the way down the road, while also keeping pace with Daryl. Merle strayed behind, dragging Paul along on the little wooden cart they’d gotten from Rivertown.

         “You should’ve seen the moon last night,” Rick told Daryl, walking so close their shoulders nearly touched. “It’s only a half moon, but with all the stars shining too, it was beautiful.”

         Daryl shrugged. “Not like I ain’t seen the moon before.”

         “Maybe, but it’s different when you see it with someone,” Rick replied. He tilted his head to make eye contact. “You could’ve sat with me and watched the sun rise with the stag and doe that wandered through.”

         “Could’ve been good fer breakfast. Since ya ate almost all the bacon,” Daryl said with a huff. He frowned. “Or not. Don’t got my crossbow with me.” Daryl felt almost naked without it. Sure he hadn’t gone hunting in while, needing to do various jobs to make money that Merle wouldn’t spend on drugs, but he missed it.

         “You’re a hunter?” Rick asked, eyes gleaming gold for just a second.

         Daryl nodded. “Since Merle an’ I were kids. Had to eat somehow.”

         They continued on in near silence after that, though Daryl could practically feel Rick’s gaze on him. But then, inevitably, Rick took the lead again and Daryl could breathe.

         Rick and Daryl stopped at the same time after cresting a low hill. An old woman with long, wispy white hair, covered in a worn gray cloak blocked their path.

         “I am but a poor old lady, spare me some food?” the old woman asked, voice shaky as she reached out.

         Merle snorted and kept walking. “I ain’t never given to charities b’fore an’ I ain’t startin’ now.”

         Rick hesitated. His nostrils flared and he eyed the old woman.

         Rolling his eyes, Daryl dug into his pack and pulled out the sandwich he’d been saving for later. “Here. Ain’t much, but, it’s what I got,” he said, handing it over.

         “Daryl!” Merle barked. “You’re goin’ soft! You keep that up an’ you’ll get us killed.”

         The old woman payed them no mind. She smiled up at Daryl. “Since you have been kind, I have a lesson.” She shot a look at Merle and Rick. “For all of you.” The woman turned her attention back to Daryl. “Take this stick,” she said, pulling a stick from the bag slung over one sloped shoulder. “Break it.”

         Daryl took the stick and snapped it easily in half.

         “And this one,” the old woman continued, holding out a second stick.

         Once again, Daryl did as she asked.

         The old woman handed him a third stick. “Put these three together,” she instructed. “Now, try and break them.”

         Daryl tried, twisting and bending, but the bundle of sticks refused to break. “I can’t.”

         Laughing, the old woman nodded. “That is the lesson!”

         “Oh wow,” Merle sneered. “I think that was only worth one sandwich.”

         The old woman shot him a look. “When the students are ready, the teacher appears.”

         “You didn’t go to my school,” Merle replied snarkily.

         “You didn’t even go to yer school,” Daryl told him, ignoring the amused smile Rick tried to hide. He reached out, stopping the woman before she could totter past. “’scuse me, but ya haven’t seen a big red-headed guy drivin’ a cart have ya?”

         “Yes, very early this morning,” the old woman said. “He and his friends took the main road through the forest, but you must not. You must leave the path.”

         “Wait, the path is the only safe thing in the whole forest,” Rick protested, looking alarmed.

         The old woman shook her head. “Not for you. Someone is following you. They intend to kill you.” And with that final cryptic warning, the old woman walked off.

         “What the hell? What’s this “intend to kill” bullshit?” Merle demanded. But it looked like Rick knew exactly what it meant.

         Rick touched Daryl’s arm, bringing him close. “There’s a person who controls this forest,” he told them. “The Hunter. Serves the King. But… the Hunter wouldn’t expect us to leave the only road.”

         Daryl frowned. “Why not?”

         “Because,” Rick sighed, “only a fool would go into the Disenchanted Forest.”

         “Great,” Merle muttered.

         Rick stood tall, expression calm and controlled. “Alright. You will follow me. Step only where I step.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Fog curled up off the ground, illuminated by the moonlight as it twisted around the trees.

         “Do you hear moanin’?” Merle asked from the back, checking behind him to make sure the cart hadn’t come loose.

         Daryl nodded. “Yeah. ‘s definitely moanin’.” He kept most of his attention on where Rick was, but a part of him was also on the alert for danger. Human or otherwise.

         “This forest is filled with magic, so I’m not surprised,” Rick said. He froze, holding his hand back to keep Daryl and Merle from going on.

         Dead rabbits, birds, raccoons, and various other animals swung in the faint breeze. They, along with bloody traps, were attached to an upright bundle of branches. At the center was a sign.

         ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE CONSIDERED POACHERS

         Daryl and Merle were both hunters. They had no problems with dead animals or traps. But Daryl drew the line at poaching. It made his lip curl in disgust as they followed Rick through the little clearing.

         On a tree further up was a second sign.

         ALL POACHERS WILL BE SHOT

         BY ORDER OF THE HUNTER

         “Can’t say I disagree with that,” Merle muttered. “Still, I’d rather not get shot.”

         They kept going, trying not to think too hard about being hunted down. Rick especially hoped that the Hunter really wasn’t after them. That the old woman had meant someone else.

         The neighing of a horse caught their attention. Miles into a deep, dark forest, it was certainly a sound one wouldn’t expect to hear.

         “Was that a horse?” Daryl asked, voice hushed.

         Rick nodded and held a finger up to his mouth. He lead them around some trees and over to a set of large bushes. Rick held aside some leaves and they peered through.

         There was a fairly large camp set up, complete with caravans, a fire pit circled by logs, and several people, dressed mostly in long coats and dresses in blacks and grays, wandering around. One of the people was brushing the mane of a beautiful chestnut brown horse. Strange sculptures were scattered about the campsite, some painted, others not.

         “Scavengers,” Rick muttered.

         Merle frowned at the scene. “Now what?”

         The answer came by way of a knife thrusting through the bushes. “You join,” the man wielding the knife said, smirking as others gathered, surrounding them.

         They were herded into the camp. Scavengers looked up from their tasks, eyeing them suspiciously as they passed. The man led them to the fire pit, and with a gesture told them to stay put as he left.

         Rick turned to Daryl and Merle. “Scavengers are dangerous. One wrong move, and they’ll kill us. Don’t refuse anything they offer, but don’t eat or drink whatever you haven’t seen them eat or drink first.” He looked around. “I think we’re meant to sit. C’mon.” Rick made his way over to a log and sat, Daryl and Merle joining him a second later.

         The fire crackled and spit sparks into the night air. One of the Scavengers started up a cheerful little tune on her violin. Apparently needing no invitation or other direction, a few others got up and began to dance.

         Merle poked at the...meat in the bowl he’d been given. He wasn’t fussy, would eat just about anything, but he usually at least knew what it was he was eating. The meat looked vaguely like a hedgehog. A blackened hedgehog. He glanced back at the Scavenger looming behind them. “This is great,” Merle said with a fake smile, and took a bite.

         Rick, though he and Daryl clapped along with the Scavengers to the music, kept his eyes trained on the people. Specifically on a girl with long brunette hair and fierce eyes. There was something off about her. When Rick looked away, he caught Daryl also watching their “hosts”.

         The music ended with a dramatic flourish, and everyone clapped. The woman—an older brunette with her hair pulled back into a severe bun—that had been playing the song turned to them. “Now you,” she demanded, holding the violin out to Merle.

         Merle snorted. “I don’t know shit about playin’ the violin.”

         “Sing,” she said.

         “I can’t sing neither,” Merle protested.

         “Merle,” Rick warned.

         Another Scavenger, the older man from before, stepped over. “Food. Music. Not worth song?” His knife glinted in the firelight as he twirled it in his hands.

         Merle sighed. “Sure. Bet you’re really gonna love my voice. Voice of an angel so’s I’ve been told,” he cackled, knowing it was certainly not the case. “Let’s see...” Merle clapped his hands together, getting an idea. He stood and began to sing.

         “ _I can't stop this feeling,_

_deep inside of me._

_Girl, you just don't realize,_

_what you do to me!_ ”

         A chorus of boos cut Merle off from finishing his song. Not that Rick or Daryl could blame them. That had been painful. He spat on the ground. “Told y’all I couldn’t sing.”

         Rick shook his head. “I think you’ve just pissed them off. Daryl, can you sing?”

         Daryl blanched. “Ya really think me singin’ is gonna make ‘em back off?”

         “Yes! If you can, you should. I can’t,” Rick said.

         Daryl clearly hated the plan, but he nodded. After a moment, he stood and began, his usually raspy voice lending the song a surprisingly nice quality.

          “ _It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday,_

_the regular crowd shuffles in._

_There’s an old man sittin’ next to me,_

_makin’ love to his tonic an’ gin._ ”

         He tapped out the beat on his thigh.

_“He says, Son can ya play me a memory?_

_I_ _'_ _m not really sure how it goes._

_But it’s sad an’ it’s sweet an’ I knew it complete_

_when I wore a younger man’s clothes._

_La la la, di da da_

_La la, di da da da dum_

_Sing us a song, you're the piano man,_

_sing us a song tonight!_

_Well, we're all in the mood for a melody,_

_an’ you've got us feelin' alright.”_

         Feeling all eyes on him, Daryl trailed off and sat down.

         The Scavengers broke into applause.

         Daryl ducked his head and peeked at Rick out of the corners of his eyes. Rick looked impressed and was clapping just as loudly as the others, a grin broken out across his face. Daryl felt his own lips twitch, threatening to smile in return.

         “Show off,” Merle griped.

         As the festivities quieted, Daryl found himself wandering over to the hanging cages he’d spotted before. Beautiful little black, red, and yellow birds sat inside.

         “Set me free!” a bird twittered fretfully, voice high and sweet.

         Daryl jumped, eyes wide.

         “Set us free!” the bird begged. “Please, set us free!”

         “Magic birds,” Rick said, standing close behind him. “They’re very rare, very hard to catch. Only the Scavengers know how to catch them.”

         Daryl frowned. _Poachers,_ he thought with a shake of his head. “What do they even want with ‘em?”

         Rick sighed. “Their wings will be broken. Then they’ll be sold to rich people.”

         “That’s awful!” chirped one of the birds, flapping her wings in distress.

         “Some people eat them. Think it’ll give them magical powers.” Rick rested his hands on his hips, scowling at the cages.

         The bird tilted her head. “They can’t do that! That’s terrible! I have six little babies waiting to be fed. They’re starving to death without me!”

         Daryl couldn’t help but feel awful for them. At least what he killed couldn’t talk. And he hadn’t done it for sport or profit, but to eat.

         “Please set me free!”

         With a gentle hand on his arm, Rick led Daryl back to the campfire.

         “Gold. Real?” a Scavenger asked, running his hands over Paul’s snout.

         Merle nearly spat out his drink. “No! Nah, ‘s just gold paint,” he replied. He grinned. “Got a pair of ‘em. Plan to put ‘em at the end of my driveway.”

         The door to one of the caravans swung open, bumping against the wall behind it. A woman with oddly bobbed brunette hair, the sides tucked behind her ears, strode down the stairs. She was lanky, and the long black cloak she wore only enhanced that. Her shrewd eyes scanned the crowd. “Table.”

         As she walked over, one of the Scavengers set up a table, laying a green, circular cloth on top that was decorated with strange symbols.

         The woman gave them all a once over, though she let her gaze linger on Rick. “Jadis.” She introduced herself. Jadis looked at Merle and pointed at the stool in front of the table. “Sit.”

         Merle looked like he wanted to argue, but Rick shot him a glare, and so with a roll of his eyes, he did so. “Okay, now what?”

         Jadis sat across from him and set down a deck of cards. “Tell your fortune,” she said with a small smile. “Accurate. Promise. Shuffle.”

         Snorting, Merle shuffled the cards, then handed them to her.

         Jadis laid out ten cards, some on top of each other, others lined up to the side. She tapped the card in the center. “Fool.” She smirked. “You will change. Let go of old.”

         “Sure you ain’t just insultin’ me?” Merle grunted.

         Ignoring him, Jadis continued, pointing to the card laying across the first. It depicted a man sitting in bed, nine swords hanging above his head. “Indecision. Suspicious. You are cruel.” Her long finger drifted to the third card, below the first two. Three people held up pentacles. “You work together. Harmonize. Work hard.”

         Merle crossed his arms, his foot tapping under the table.

         Jadis moved on. “Sadness, loneliness. You were poor.” Her eyes traveled over the cards. “A Knight. Brave, strong. Clever, but it’s hidden… Hm.” She looked up at him. “Defeat and pain soon. Failure. Disappointment. Misery. But…” Jadis studied the cards again. She nodded and sat back. “Employed, admired. Done. Go.”

         “Weird as fuck,” Merle muttered as he got up and left.

         “You,” Jadis said, pointing to Daryl.

         Daryl shook his head. “Nah. No thanks.”

         “You. Come,” Jadis demanded. She crooked a finger, calling him over. When he sat, she stared at him, unblinking. He fidgeted, but Jadis ignored it, gaze piercing. “Full of anger,” she said, voice thoughtful but sure. “Hide much.” Jadis held out a hand and one of the Scavengers gave her a pair of scissors. She pointed them at Daryl. “Hair.”

         Daryl frowned. “’scuse me?”

         Jadis gestured for him to lean over. “Hair lock.” Daryl complied and let her snip a bit of his hair. Jadis set aside the scissors and dropped his hair into a bowl of pink liquid. She held her hands on either side and looked into the bowl. Jadis tilted her head, then her gaze returned to Daryl. “Great destiny. Stretches way back.”

         “Tch. Just a redneck and a waiter. Don’t think I’m winnin’ any prizes so far,” Daryl retorted, crossing his arms.

         “Mother died. A fire. You don’t forgive,” Jadis said, looking deep into Daryl’s eyes. “Father--”

         “Like I said, I ain’t into havin’ my fortune read,” Daryl snapped. He stood and walked away, shoulders tense.

         Jadis watched him go, then slowly turned her attention turned to Rick.

         He approached, both eager and cautious. Rick had never had his fortune told. To be honest, he’d never really cared to. But this was an opportunity. “Love and romance, please,” Rick requested.

         “I lay with you after?” Jadis offered with a smirk.

         Rick grimaced. “Uh...”

         Jadis gave an amused huff. She grabbed his hand and flipped it so she could look at his palm. Tilting it this way and that, tracing her finger over the lines, Jadis frowned. “Death. Torn to pieces.”

         “What?” Rick asked, alarmed.

         “Fire. You are to be burned.”

         Rick tried to pull away. “No!”

         Jadis held on, her expression intense. “Not what you seem,” she said, eye flashing. “Wolf.”

         The Scavengers surrounding them stood, weapons at the ready.

         “And so is the girl,” Rick replied, glancing over his shoulder. The girl from before tensed, but didn’t get up from her seat nearby. Rick turned back to Jadis.

         A smile crept over Jadis’ lips and she let go of Rick’s hand. “Stay tonight. Friends safe here from forest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> Hooked on a Feeling by Blue Swede  
> Piano Man by Billy Joel


	10. Chapter 10

         The crackle of the dying fire, the nickering and snorts from the horses, and even those odd moans from the forest were the only sounds to be heard in the camp. The lingering smell of cooked meat in the air a comfort. And as much as Daryl wanted to sleep, he couldn’t. His brain wouldn’t stop going in circles over everything. Especially Rick. Daryl rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars.

         Daryl wasn’t sure how to feel about Rick. On the one hand, he’d broken into Carol’s apartment and knocked her out. One the other… Well, he had apologized, and he’d saved Daryl, and he continued to help him and Merle despite having no real reason to. He could be a bit of a dork, but there was something about Rick that spoke authority—that deserved respect. Daryl found more than once that he just _trusted_ Rick. He’d followed him blindly into an unknown and magical forest without any protest! It was stupid, but Daryl did feel some amount of trust.

         The desperate twittering of those magic birds caught Daryl’s attention once again. He sighed and sat up, looking over to where the cages hung.

         “Please set us free!”

         “Set us free!”

         “Set me free! Please set me free!”

         Daryl sighed and turned away. That was when he saw Rick sitting on a log by the fire, that young wolf girl beside him. They were talking, too quietly for Daryl to hear. It looked like he was explaining something, though. Rick seemed almost fatherly with her. Shaking his head, Daryl laid back down.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Sweet morning bird song echoed through the forest as Rick, Daryl, and Merle got ready to leave. The Scavengers were all still asleep, and Rick had thought it best for them leave before they woke up.

         As Merle tried to wheel Paul around the logs and sleeping Scavengers, Daryl was once against distracted by the magical birds. He looked back, seeing Rick and Merle now picking the cart up, and snuck over to the cages. Daryl couldn’t find it in himself to just leave and not help the birds. It didn’t seem right.

         “Set us free!”

 _“Please,_ set us free!”

         Daryl opened one of the cages and the three birds inside took off. He went down the line, opening each cage and freeing the birds. Until there was only one left. The cage hung from Jadis’ caravan, right next to the door. He frowned. _Already freed the others, might as well get this one,_ he thought. Daryl reached up and flicked the latch.

         The birds burst out of their cage, sending it clattering against the wall.

         “Shit!” Daryl leaped backwards, turned, and ran in Rick and Merle’s direction.

         “Go, go, go!” Merle chanted, running with Paul tucked under his arm.

         The door to the caravan was flung open. “Catch them!” Jadis shouted.

         The shouts of the Scavengers followed Daryl as he sprinted through the forest. He tore through ferns and leaped over logs and branches. Rick and Merle were too far ahead, he couldn’t see them. Daryl slowed, trying to see where they had gone.

         A hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him down.

         Daryl’s yelp was cut off by Rick’s hand as he hunkered over him. He watched Rick as he looked up, keeping an eye out for the Scavengers. The shouts grew louder.

         “Back! Come back!” Jadis’ voice carried from a distance.

         When they were sure the Scavengers were gone, Rick stood and helped Daryl up. “I don’t understand. She called off the hunt,” Rick muttered, glancing back over his shoulder.

         “I ain’t lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth. Let’s just get outta this damn forest already,” Merle said, setting Paul down.

         “Yeah, I’d rather not stick around,” Daryl agreed. The sooner they got out, the better. Which was something Daryl never thought he’d feel about a forest.

         Rick huffed. “Alright. I just wish I knew _why_ they gave up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Jadis sat at her table, the bowl from the night before in front of her. She sprinkled in a silvery powder, letting it coat the hair that floated on top. The potion bubbled and sparked and steamed. Pleased, Jadis held her hands on either side of the bowl and closed her eyes.

         She began her chant. _“_

_Stretch it, twist it, make it grow. Like a river make it flow. Make it pull and pinch and tweak. Make it grow ‘til he grows weak. Make him groan and scream and cry. Make him wish that he would die!”_

         Jadis’ eyes snapped open, glowing scarlet.

 

         Jadis instructed the Scavengers to pack up. She walked through the camp, making sure everything was in order. They would need to move on and try to find more birds.

_Thwack!_

         The sound startled Jadis, and she peered around the little tree she’d been passing. A bolt stuck out of it. And wrapped around the bolt was a piece of parchment.

         Tamiel approached and plucked the parchment from the bolt. “All Poachers will be killed. By order of the Hunter,” she read. Eyes wide, Tamiel dropped the parchment. “The Hunt--”

         Her warning was cut off by a bolt through her heart.

         Another bolt zinged through the trees and lodged itself in Brion’s back. Farron fell next. Jadis cried out as her people scattered. She grabbed Enid by the arm and shoved her behind her caravan. “Go! Run!”

         Enid shook her head. “Can’t!”

         “Can! Now!” Jadis pushed her.

         Tears streaking her face, Enid fled.

         Jadis rounded her caravan. Her people, slaughtered, lay spread across the campsite, the forest floor soaked in blood. Pain lanced through her body. She dropped to the ground, a bolt sticking from her heart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl growled. “What!?” he demanded, as Merle looked at him for the millionth time. “The hell ya lookin’ at?”

         “Dontchu bite my head off! Yer hair’s gotten longer. I know it weren’t like that an hour ago,” Merle said, pointing at Daryl’s head.

         Frowning, Daryl touched his hair. He patted at it and, yeah, it did feel longer. “What?”

         Rick turned to look back at them, and his eyes widened. “Yeah, your hair is definitely longer.”

         Daryl huffed and stomped over to a little river. He peered into the water. His hair was long enough to curl around his ears and was creeping down his neck. Daryl scowled. He looked like he belonged in some emo band or some shit. “Fuckin’ weird.”

         “Hm.” Rick crouched beside him and brushed his fingers along Daryl’s hair. “Wait! The Scavengers! They had a lock of your hair!” Rick stood. “They cursed you.”

         “Cursed me?” Daryl exclaimed, standing as well. “The fuck do you mean? What do I do?”

         “It ain’t that long, anyway,” Merle said, shaking his head. “Seems like a stupid curse to me. Just makes you look more like the girl you are, Darlina.” He cackled at his own dumb joke.

         Daryl flipped him off.

 

         And it would have been fine if it had stayed that length.

         The downpour made trekking through the forest at night hard enough, but with Daryl’s hair now needing to be braided so it wouldn’t trail along the ground, it was a damn nightmare. That and Rick having to hold onto the end.

         “Where are we goin’?” Merle shouted over the crash of thunder.

         Daryl frowned when Rick didn’t respond, grimacing when he accidentally yanked his hair. Again. The wind blew harder and Daryl cried out as his hair caught in the branches of a tree. “Fuck! We can’t keep goin’ like this! We gotta find shelter!”

         Rick turned. “Where are we going to find shelter in the middle of the forest?” he shouted back. Lighting flashed, lighting up the surrounding area. “There! Look!”

         A little white cottage with a thatched roof sat in a clearing a few feet away.

         They ran to it and Rick busted open the wooden door. The inside was dark and musty, and the walls were covered in graffiti and dust. Spiderwebs hung from the wooden ceiling beams.

         “Hello?” Rick called, looking around.

         Daryl shook his hair and squeezed it, trying to dry it out. As he did, he spotted a table where seven mugs were laid out. On one wall hung seven lanterns.

         “Anyone home?” Merle shouted. He crouched and headed up the narrow winding staircase. The room up above was filled with seven little beds. “Hey! Come look!”

         Rick and Daryl hurried up the stairs, Rick holding a lit lantern up so they could see. He grinned. “This is Snow White’s cottage.” He walked among the beds, eyes wide. “This place has been lost forever.”

         Daryl tilted his head. That meant the beds had belonged to the Seven Dwarfs. “Hm.”

         “It’s too bad Paul isn’t able to see this. This his Grandmother’s cottage,” Rick said, hands on his hips.

 

         It only took an hour for them to move the furniture around downstairs, fix the front door, and start up a good fire.

         “Your hair almost dry?” Rick asked, watching as Daryl held the still growing braid in front of the fire.

         “Don’t know. The damn thing keeps growin’,” Daryl muttered. He didn’t like having the fire lit, that Hunter might be able to see it, but he needed to dry his hair off. It was too heavy when wet.

         Merle stretched himself out in the dirty old arm chair. “Here’s a question I never thought I’d ask,” he started, propping his feet up against a wooden pillar. “What happened to Snow White after she married the prince?”

         “She became a great Queen,” Rick replied, poking at the fire. He set the poker down and rested his arm on his knee. “One of the five women who changed history.”

         “One?” Daryl asked.

         Rick nodded. “Snow White, Cinderella, Queen Riding Hood, Gretel the Great, and the Lady Rapunzel,” he listed. “They were the ones who created the first Five Kingdoms. Brought peace to all the lands. They’re all dead now, though.” Rick looked into the fire. “There are people who claim Cinderella is still alive. No-one’s seen her in public for nearly forty years. She’d be _two-hundred_ years old,” he chuckled.

         “Huh.” Merle yawned. With another stretch and groan, he stood, grabbed Paul, and headed upstairs.

         Daryl leaned back on his hands and watched the flames flicker. “What’d ya say to that girl in the camp?” he asked after a while.

         “Not much,” Rick replied. “Just Wolf stuff. Mostly just sat with her. She’d never seen another Wolf before.”

         Nodding, Daryl laid down and pillowed his head on his arm.

         Rick shifted closer. “Where are your parents? They’ve gotta be worried about you and Merle.”

         “Tch,” Daryl scoffed. “Dead. Mom died in a fire when I was little an’ my Pa got killed in a huntin’ accident a couple years ago. Gored by a buck.”

         “I’m so sorry,” Rick said, a soft whine escaping him. No wonder Daryl seemed so lonely.

         Daryl rolled his eyes and bit at his thumbnail. “Don’t be. It’s not like it’d matter if he was alive. Never gave a shit ‘bout where I was.”

         Rick tilted his head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

         “Yeah, it is true,” Daryl snapped. “Got lost in the woods for nine days when I was a kid. Survived on berries an’ whatever else I could find. I found my way back eventually. My Ol’ Man hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone. Didn’t notice when I came back neither.Walked into the kitchen, and made myself a sandwich.”

         “Oh.” Rick frowned, troubled.

         “‘Oh’ what?” Daryl demanded, squinting up at him.

         “Nothing. Just, oh,” Rick replied. It made his heart ache to hear that someone as good as Daryl had been neglected by his own father. And, if he was honest, Merle wasn’t exactly the type of person he should live with either.

         Once again, Daryl rolled his eyes. This time, though, it was followed by a sneeze. “Damn dust.”

         Rick couldn’t help himself. He reached out, lightly touching Daryl’s cheek. At Daryl’s wide-eyed look, he said, “You must do something great with your life.”

         “That right? Why?” Daryl asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

         “Because you’ve been badly hurt,” Rick said.

         Daryl sat up, eyes flashing. “My dad was a piece of shit! _What?_ Ya ain’t got shitty parents where yer from?”

         “It’s not exactly common among Wolves, no,” Rick replied, shaking his head. He watched as Daryl calmed a little, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes again. “You don’t trust anybody.”

         “Nope. Only person you can trust is yerself.” Daryl wrapped his arms around his knees.

         Rick sighed. He’d been hoping that Daryl trusted him at least, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. “Well, you might not get hurt that way. But you won’t get loved either.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl yawned and stretched his arms as he rolled over. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, then finally blinked awake. Horror spread through him as he took in the scene. “What the hell!?” Daryl’s hair had spread throughout the entire room. Rick had even wrapped himself in it sometime during the night.

         Rick startled at the shout. He pushed the hair off him instinctively, but then he too noticed what had happened. “Fuck.”

         “It’s everywhere!” Daryl scrambled to his feet, trying not to tread on his own hair. He looked around, trying to see where it ended. Which was when he made an even more horrifying discovery. “It’s growing up the stairs!”

 

         Daryl sat on a stump, holding his hair away from his head as Merle and Rick tried every tool they could find to cut it. Shears, knives, a scythe, an axe, nothing worked.

         “This is impossible,” Merle growled, throwing down the shears.

         “I can’t keep goin’ like this! Not if we’re bein’ chased,” Daryl said. “It’s gonna get us killed.”

         “Don’t despair!” They looked up, startled. One of the magical birds sat on a low hanging tree branch. “Because you saved my life, I will tell you how to cut your hair.”

         Relief flooded through Daryl. “Please.”

         The bird fluttered her wings and tilted her head. “Deep in the forest, there is a woodsman with a magic axe, that when swung, never fails to cut whatever it hits.” The bird hopped along the branch. “It will cut your hair and get rid of the curse.” And with that, the bird flew away.

         “Good. Let’s go, before Daryl’s hair gets too long,” Rick said, gathering the ends of Daryl’s hair.

         “Right. But first, breakfast,” Merle replied. He stepped over Daryl’s hair and plucked an apple from a tree.

         “Merle! No!” Rick leaped over Daryl’s hair and the stump and grabbed the apple. He chucked it into the forest. “You can’t eat that!”

         Merle pushed into Rick’s space. “You know, I’m gettin’ real tired of you bossin’ us around,” he snapped.

         Rick tilted his head. “Yeah? Well how about you take a minute to think about where you are. _Snow White’s_ cottage.”

         “And?” Merle demanded.

         “That apple tree probably grew from the seeds of the apple that poisoned her,” Rick replied, going back to pick up Daryl’s hair.

         “For fuck’s sake!” Merle growled. “Is nothin’ safe in this damn place?”

         “Quit yer complainin’, Merle. We gotta go,” Daryl huffed, trying to loop some of his hair around his arm like one would with rope.

         “Fine.” Merle pulled Paul out from inside the house. “You got the hair, I got the dog.”

 

         Rick led the way through the forest, mostly ignoring Daryl and Merle’s arguing behind him. Until a particular scent caught his attention. “Sh! I got a scent!”

         “What scent?” Daryl asked.

         “It has to be the Hunter,” Rick replied. “The scent is close. We have to move faster.”

         Daryl’s lip curled in annoyance. “I can’t go any faster with this hair.”

         “So then what’re we gonna do?” Merle snapped.

         Rick looked around. “Ah! I’ll hide you,” he said, nodding to himself. “The Hunter is good, but she follows tracks. She can’t smell things like an animal. I’ll lead her in a big circle and come back for you tomorrow.”

         Merle frowned. “Wait, wait, wait. Her? This Hunter is a lady?”

         “Yeah?”

         “Then what the hell are we runnin’ for? Should’ve said somethin’ sooner. I ain’t running from some bitch,” Merle sneered. It quickly morphed into a leer and he licked his lips. “Bet I can get her to leaves us alone, huh?” He grabbed his crotch.

         Rick glared at him. “The Hunter is one of the deadliest people in the Nine Kingdoms. She’ll kill you before you ever see her.” He shook his head. “No. I’m hiding you both. Now hurry!”

 

         It took some time, but Rick was able to bury all three of them and hide the traces with fallen leaves. He leaned over the pile Daryl was hidden under. “You okay?” Fingers poked through the leaves and when he touched them, disappeared again. “Good, now don’t breathe.” Rick stood and hurried over to Merle’s hiding spot. “You can’t breathe. You have to stay quiet until I get back.” Getting confirmation from Merle, Rick kicked back some dirt and debris to cover his tracks and dashed into the forest.

         Daryl waited silently beneath the leaves. There was just enough space for him to be able to see up above, but not much. And then there were footsteps. If Daryl hadn’t been a hunter himself he never would have heard them.

         The Hunter stepped into view. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her blue-gray eyes were narrowed as they swept over the area. When she craned her head to look around, a set of black bars tattooed onto her neck were visible. Her long, black leather coat swept out behind her as she turned and walked away, the crossbow slung over her shoulder now visible.

         Merle sneezed.

         Daryl burst up out of the leaves, hauled out his hair, and ran after Merle who was already sprinting away. “Dammit, Merle!” He tried to keep up, but the immense weight of his hair slowed him down. “C’mon!”

         His hair went ridged and Daryl was yanked backwards. He landed on his back with a shout of pain. Daryl tilted his head back and saw the Hunter standing on the end of his hair. He couldn’t do anything and she walked up to him and grabbed him by the hair closest to his head.

         “Too easy,” the Hunter said with a smirk. Getting a good grip, she dragged him along behind her as she strode through the forest.

 

         Merle stopped by a tree, panting, and looked back. Daryl was nowhere to be seen. A hand tapped him on the shoulder and he whirled around, fist up.

         “Whoa! It’s just me,” Rick said, stepping around the tree. “Where’s Daryl?”

         “The Hunter got ‘im.”

         “What!? No!” Rick couldn’t believe it. “No! This is my fault...”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone. Life kind of got in the way, plus I had some inspiration for my original novel and I needed to go along with that while it existed, lol. 
> 
> Enjoy!

         “ _Dear all, you must be wondering where I have been these last few days. I have been laid low with a sprained ankle and am staying in the Royal Hunting Lodge in the Disenchanted Forest. Do carry on with the rest of the coronation plans, and rest assured I will be back in plenty of time for the big day. Lots of love, Prince Paul,”_ Lord Eric read, unable to contain his relieved smile.

         “Thank goodness for that,” Lord Aaron said with a sigh and a grin. Shaking his head, he made his way back to his seat at the table.

         “Yes, that explains it,” Lord Ezekiel agreed, following him.

         Lady Deanna shook her head, frowning. “It explains nothing.” She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers against the table top. “Why hasn’t he made any mention of the Troll King crisis?”

         “Well perhaps he hasn’t heard about it?” Lord Eric replied, raising an eyebrow. “A twisted ankle can be excruciating!”

         Standing, Lady Deanna rounded the table. “The Troll King has challenged Paul to face him in combat.” She gestured at the map behind them. “Meanwhile, he’s been killing Fourth Kingdom citizens and nothing is being done about it.”

         Lord Ezekiel nodded, looking over the flagged areas on the map. “We need a plan,” he announced.

         “We have a plan,” Lord Eric said with a grin, placing his hands on Lord Ezekiel and Lady Deanna’s arms. He slipped between them and pulled on a string on the map. A new sheet of paper slid down. “My seating plan for Paul’s coronation.” He turned. “The ceremony is barely three weeks away and I need the Prince for a fitting, and I need people to commit to a basic color scheme.”

         “I’m worried about Paul,” Lady Deanna said, ignoring Lord Eric. She headed for the door. “I will go to the hunting lodge on the fastest steed in the Kingdom and tell him of the Troll King’s challenge.”

         “Good idea,” Lord Aaron agreed.

         Lady Deanna paused and turned back. “One more thing. The King is still at large and he has spies everywhere. Nothing said here must go beyond this room. Agreed?”

         The others nodded.

         “Agreed,” Lord Ezekiel said.

         Lady Deanna dipped her head politely and then left, not noticing the shimmering mirror hanging above the doors.

 

* * *

 

         Negan frowned and turned from his mirror. “Summon my Hunter,” he told it.

         A few moments later, Laura responded. “Yes, My King?”

         “Paul’s council doesn’t believe my letters,” Negan said. “They’re sending one of theirs to his hunting lodge. She can _not_ be allowed to return.”

         “It will be done,” Laura replied with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

         “I still can’t believe he was kidnapped,” Rick growled as he and Merle walked through the forest. He couldn’t help the little howl that followed the thought.

         “Knock it off will you?” Merle snapped. “Yer fuckin’ ridiculous.”

         Rick stopped and turned towards Merle, eyes glowing gold. “You don’t seem to understand just how bad this is.”

         “An’ you don’t seem to understand that Daryl’s survived worse. He can handle himself ‘til we get there,” Merle retorted.

         As Rick went to snap back, the sound of wood being chopped interrupted his thoughts. “Listen!”

_Thwack!_

         “There!” Rick darted through the underbrush and into a clearing, Merle close behind.

         Sunlight glinted off the silvery axe as it swung down, chopping through a log as easily as a knife through butter. The black man holding it looked about Rick’s age, he was bald and had a faint goatee.

         “ _Tch._ ” Merle spat on the ground. “’course.”

         Rick shot him a look, and headed over.

         “Stop,” the man said, though he didn’t seem to be looking at them. His hand rested on a log still in the cart behind him. “Who’s there?”

         “Excuse us,” Rick replied, walking closer. “We’re just passing through. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a gorgeous young man around here with long brown hair?”

         The man snorted. “I haven’t seen anything. I’m blind.” He split the next log and tossed the pieces aside into a small pile.

         “A _blind_ woodsman?” Merle asked with a shake of his head.

         “You ever seen a tree move?” the woodsman retorted.

         Rick pressed against Merle’s chest, stopping him from making what was sure to be a nasty comeback. “Look at the axe,” he whispered. Then, to the woodsman, Rick asked, “That wouldn’t happen to be the magical axe that can cut through anything, would it?”

         The woodsman shrugged. “Could be.”

         Merle smacked Rick’s arm. “How much you want for it?” he asked with a grin.

         “You can have my magic axe,” the woodsman replied, “if you can guess my name.” He turned and pointed to a stump with a log attached to one end. “But your friend must kneel by this block. If you haven’t guessed my name by the time I’ve chopped all these logs into firewood, I’ll have his head.”

         Merle stared at him. “What _is_ it with you people?” he demanded. “What kinda twisted upbringin’ did you have, huh? Why cantchu just say _‘Oh, that’ll be a hundred gold coins’_? Why’s it always gotta be _‘No! Not unless you lay a magic egg’!_ Or count the hairs on a giants _ass!”_

         The woodsman chuckled. “You want the axe or don’t you?”

         Rick shook his head and started to walk away. “C’mon, Merle. Let’s just go find Daryl.”

         “Oh! Wait!” Merle grabbed Rick. “I think I know this.”

         “Merle.”

         “No, it’s fine,” Merle assured, patting Rick’s shoulder. He turned to the woodsman. “We accept!”

         The woodsman set a new log on the stump in front of him. “Very well. Lay your head on the block while your friend guesses.”

         Rick growled but knelt by the block. “Your lucky this is for Daryl.”

         The woodsman pressed the log down across Rick’s shoulders. “Just to make you secure,” he said.

         “Dontchu worry, yer ol’ pal Merle’s got this,” Merle promised, rubbing his hands together. He smirked at the woodsman. “Okay, Mr. I-Don’t-Have-To-Look-But-I-Can-Chop-Wood, yer name is Rumpelstiltskin.”

         “No.” The woodsman chopped the log. He removed the pieces and set down a new one.

         Merle frowned. “I said _Rumpelstiltskin.”_

         “That’s not his name,” Rick hissed.

         “Guess again,” the woodsman said.

         “Oh! Rumpelstiltskin Junior?” Merle guessed. “Uh, Rumpelstiltskin the Fourth?”

         “No,” the woodsman replied. He chopped the log.

         Merle frowned and scratched the stubble at his chin. “Does it have a Rumple in it?”

 

* * *

 

         “Lemme go! I ain’t involved in whatever this is,” Daryl snapped, struggling against his bindings.

         The Hunter leaned over him where he sat on the floor of the hideout in the tree. “Where’s the dog?” she asked, tone calm.

         Daryl frowned. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

         “Don’t make me ask again,” the Hunter warned, gripping the end of his hair.

         “We...” Daryl tried to think up a convincing lie. “We think he’s dead.”

         The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re lying.” Then her brows raised. “You aren’t lying. Something happened to him. Is he hurt?” She frowned again. “You were dragging something on wheels. Except the tracks were too deep for just a dog.”

         Daryl would have been impressed in any other situation. It wasn’t often he came across others as good at tracking as himself. But right now? Right now it was just annoying. Daryl grunted as the Hunter hauled him to his feet, grabbing the front of his vest. She was strong for her size.

         “What about the others?” the Hunter demanded, looking up into his eyes. “Will they come looking for you?”

         Scoffing, Daryl rolled his eyes. “They don’t give a damn ‘bout me.”

         Laura smirked. “So they will come. Do they have weapons?”

         “Yeah,” Daryl sneered.

         "No weapons,” Laura confirmed.

 

* * *

 

         Merle looked seconds away from just trying to wrestle the axe from the woodsman, danger be damned, but he made another guess instead. “Tom? Dick? ‘cause you are one, so’s you know.”

         “Nope,” the woodsman said, chopping yet another log.

         “Uh… How ‘bout Elvis?” Merle tried as the woodsman placed a new log on the stump. He snapped his fingers. “Tyreese?”

_Thwack!_

         “John? Paul? George? Ringo?” Merle was getting desperate.

_“Ringo?”_ Rick asked incredulously.

         Another log was chopped.

         Merle threw his hands up. “Look, why dontchu give me hint, huh? I mean, what kinda fun can it be to just kill ‘im?”

         The woodsman paused. “It’s my calling. My duty. I have to clear these woods of Wolves.” The woodsman chopped another log.

 

* * *

 

         The Hunter shoved Daryl onto a wooden bench by a knothole in the tree that served as a window. “Sit. Stay.”

         Daryl shot her a glare.

         Looking out the window, the Hunter ignored him. “You know, I was born right here in this forest,” she remarked, resting a booted foot on the bench. “When I first saw the King, I was the wife of a forester. An idiot of a man. Didn’t even know I could shoot a bow better than he could.” The Hunter rolled her eyes. “The King came to my village. He stopped his hunting party to get water for the horses. He called me forward, and showed me this.” She pulled the crossbow from her back. It was a nice dark wood with a metal hawk head on the front, ruby eyes gleaming in the light of the evening sun. “When this is fired, the bolt won’t stop until it hits the heart of a living being. It can’t miss.

         So I asked him what I could do to win such a bow. He said, ‘Close your eyes, fire anywhere you want, and it’ll be yours’. So I did.” The Hunter looked down at Daryl. “The bolt left the bow like gossamer, sped a mile through the trees, then killed a child who was playing.”

         Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, unable to keep the dread creeping up his spine.

         “I remember the King’s face, when I pulled the bolt from my son’s heart,” the Hunter said. “He said, ‘You will be my hunter’.” She smirked and leaned into Daryl’s space. “So you understand? The hunt is my purpose, and only pleasure. I have no interest in mercy.”

 

* * *

 

_Thwack!_

         “How do we know you aren’t lying about your name?” Rick asked, glaring at the woodsman.

         Merle pointed at him. “Yeah! I could’ve said it already!”

         “You haven’t guessed my name,” the woodsman said, replacing the log. “Not by a long shot.” He pointed towards the cart. “My name is on my walking stick.”

         Rick and Merle exchanged a look. Merle nodded and took a careful step to the left.

         The woodsman thrust his axe in front of him. “I may be blind, but my hearing is excellent. Move any closer and I’ll chop the Wolf’s head off.”

         “Yer a sick pervert, ain’tcha? Huh, _Mr. Yo?”_ Merle sneered, flipping the man off despite the fact he couldn’t see it. It was satisfying in it’s own right. “You’ve done this before, haven’tchu?”

         “Hundreds of times, as a matter-of-fact. As I said, I clear,” the woodsman replied.

         Rick shifted and huffed. “And what’s the percentage of correct guesses?”

         The woodsman shook his head. “No-one has ever guessed my name.” And with that, he chopped another log.

 

* * *

 

         “Who the hell is this King anyway? How can ya serve someone who made you kill yer own son?” Daryl asked, lip curled in disgust.

         The Hunter arched a pale eyebrow. “It was my destiny to kill my son, and it was his destiny to ask me.”

         Daryl shook his head. Clearly she was nuts. Just like everyone else in this damn fantasy world.

         “Whatever’s meant to happen, will happen, no matter what we do,” the Hunter continued, aiming her crossbow at him. “It’s my destiny to kill you now.”

         Before the Hunter could fire the bolt, a bell ran outside. She frowned but lowered the bow and glanced out the window. “I have business to attend to.” The Hunter looked him over with a smirk. “We’ll continue this later.”

         Daryl watched her head down the winding stairs to the bottom of the tree. He heard shuffling and then silence.

 

* * *

 

         Merle paced, grimacing at the sound of yet another log being chopped into firewood. “The Mad Axeman?”

         The woodsman grabbed another log. There was only one left. “I told you, you’ll never guess.”

         “Fuckin’ asshole,” Merle grumbled. The flapping of wings caught his attention and he looked up. One of those magic birds zipped by and perched on the edge of the cart. It leaned over, peering at the walking stick. “Uh…wait..”

         The woodsman swung his axe. More firewood. He grabbed the last log and set it on the stump.

         “Just a second, now, it’s comin’ to me,” Merle stalled. His stomach dropped as the axe rose high into the air. The bird swooped over and landed on Merle’s shoulder.

_Thwack!_

         “Too late. Now, your friend’s head,” the woodsman said. He walked over to the chopping block.

         “Wait just a minute! Morgan!”

         The axe froze inches from Rick’s neck.

 

* * *

 

         The Hunter, hidden among the trees, fired her crossbow. It sped through the forest and disappeared. Laura tracked it down and smirked. She pulled the bolt from the chest of Lady Deanna. King Negan would be pleased.

 

* * *

 

         Daryl pulled at the chains binding his wrists again, but obviously it did nothing. Daryl could see tools and knives and another crossbow hanging on the walls, but the chain was too short. He couldn’t reach them. Which meant he was stuck.

         Huffing in annoyance, Daryl leaned back against the bark of the tree. And was surprised to see one of the magical birds sitting in the window. “Hey.”

         The bird tilted her head from side to side. “Because you helped us, we will help you again,” she chirped. “But this really has to be the last time. You’re such a lot of trouble.”

         Daryl stood and approached the window. “Ya gotta get my brother, Merle, and Rick. Tell ‘em where I am, to come get me, yeah?”

         The bird bobbed up and down, then took off. “Bye!”

 

* * *

 

         Rick shook his head. “You know, I was expecting an actually crazy name.”

         “Yer tellin’ me! Everyone here is nuts, but that guy has a completely normal name.” Merle shook his head, being careful, though, of the axe he had resting on his shoulder. “Maybe that’s why he went crazy. Normal is weird here.”

         A musical twittering from up above had them looking up. One of the magical birds was sitting in a tree. “You down there!”

         “Another one,” Merle muttered.

         “I know where Daryl is,” the bird tweeted.

         “Where?” Rick asked, eyes wide.

         The bird hopped down to a lower branch. “He is in a tree that is not a tree, in a place that is not a place.”

         Merle waved his free hand angrily. “Fuck this! Stop with the rhymin’ crap! Just show us where he is!”

         The bird took off, and Rick and Merle hurried after it. It took them down a long path through the forest, flitting around them and making sure they kept up. The bird darted ahead and circled a large oak. “He’s in this tree. Bye!”

         Rick couldn’t help the little growl that escaped as he ran for the tree.

         “Whoa, wait, _inside_ the tree? How the hell is he _in_ a tree?” Merle demanded, jogging after him.

         “Daryl!” Rick shouted. “Daryl, you up there!?”

         “Rick?” A moment later, Daryl’s head peaked out of a knot in the tree. “Rick! Yer here!” Then he spotted Merle. “Merle!”

         “Thank fuck,” Merle sighed. Then he called up, “You okay up there, little brother? How do we get in?”

         Daryl looked around, but it was clear he couldn’t lean out farther. “'There’s some kinda door.”

         “Got it!”

         Rick and Merle split and rounded the tree. As much as Rick looked, and even with his wolf senses, he couldn’t find a door. “There’s no door!” he shouted, going back to the side with the window. “Or it’s concealed with magic! It could take weeks to open.”

         “Can’t you just come down and let us in?” Merle snapped.

         Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “If I could don’t ya think I would’ve already? Christ, you can be stupid sometimes. I’m all chained up!” He leaned through the window, but was stopped short. “Can’t ya climb it?”

         “There’s no branches or footholds!” Rick called back.

         “What about a ladder or somethin’?” Daryl asked.

         Merle snorted. “Now who’s bein’ stupid? Where are we gonna get a ladder?” His eyes lit up. “I’ll just chop it down with the axe!”

         Rick stopped his pacing. “I got it!” He looked up. “Daryl! Can I ask you something?”

         “Might as well,” Daryl retorted.

         “How long is your hair?” Rick asked. He watched as Daryl disappeared back into the tree.

         Merle chuckled. “Oh-hoh! I see where this is goin’. Good idea.”

         A few moments later, there was a muffled response. “Longer than ever!” A beat of silence. Daryl stuck his head out the window. “No! No fuckin’ way!”

         Rick couldn’t contain his grin. He’d always wanted to do this. He stepped up to the tree, flinging his arms open wide. “Love of my life, let down your lustrous locks!” Rick grunted as a ton of hair smacked him right in the face. Undeterred, he shook it off and tried to find a good grip.

         “Fuck! Motherfuckin’ shit!” Daryl shouted at the top of his lungs as Rick started his climb.

         “Sorry, _sorry!”_ Rick hadn’t counted on it hurting Daryl so much when he’d thought of it. Not that there was much choice.

         “Damn! That’s a lotta dandruff ya got, baby brother!” Merle teased.

         “Merle, I swear I’m gonna gut y-OW!” Daryl yelped.

         Rick huffed and puffed as he hauled himself up and through the window. He tucked and rolled so as to avoid smacking his head on the pole the chain was connected to. Standing, Rick turned a goofy grin on Daryl. “Ta-da!”

         Daryl rolled his eyes. “Never again,” he grunted. He held still as Rick broke open the chain and freed him. “This place is a damn nightmare.”

         Chains gone, they started down the stairs. Rick head a squeak at the bottom, and then there was movement. The Hunter rounded the corner. “Daryl, get back!”

         There was a shout from Merle as the Hunter slammed the door behind her on his hand.

         Rick charged down the stairs with a snarl as she rushed up to meet him. She grabbed him by the front of his sheepskin jacket and threw him against a wall. Rick shoved her back, dodging the cage she swung at his face, and lunged at her. The Hunter hit him in the stomach, and Rick roared, eyes flashing and fangs dropping. She pushed him away and decked him in the face. The Hunter used the opportunity to throw him down onto a table, scattering various tools. She jumped up, pinning him down, and unsheathed her hunting knife.

         “Grab the axe!” Rick shouted.

         Daryl rushed by and snatched the axe from Merle’s still trapped hand. He swung, the Hunter arched out of the way, and the axe sliced through the table. Rick rolled out of the way, but the Hunter landed in a bear trap.

         “AHH!” she screamed, clutching her leg.

         Rick snatched up a hatchet and swung the blunt end over her head, knocking her out.

         “Someone open this damn door!” Merle shouted.

         Dropping the hatchet, Rick hurried over to the door and pushed aside the junk that had fallen against it.

         “Daryl, you okay?” Merle asked, barging inside.

         “’m fine,” Daryl replied.

         Rick nodded. “Good, let’s go.” He was about to follow Merle back outside when he saw Daryl dart back over to the Hunter. “What are you doing?”

         “This.” Daryl held up the hunting knife. “Ain’t gonna wander ‘round this damn place without a weapon.” He sheathed it and tucked it into his back pocket. “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

         “Hah!” Merle cried triumphantly as he dug Paul out of the pile of leaves. He brushed him off and patted him on his golden head. Merle saw Rick approaching and stood up, stretching his back. “How’d the haircut go?”

         “Good, I think,” Rick replied, tapping the flat of the axe against his thigh. “I couldn’t go too short though. Not without risking taking off his head.”

         Daryl stomped past. “Let’s just go,” he grumbled, glaring at them from beneath the bangs of his wavy, shoulder-length hair.


	12. Chapter 12

         Irritation bubbled in Simon’s gut as he was, once again, pulled away from enjoying the pillaging of a 4th Kingdom village by Negan. “What?” he demanded.

         “I do _not_ appreciate the tone, Your Majesty,” Negan growled from the mirror. “And do I really need to say it? You’re doing nothing but inviting trouble!”

         Simon snorted. “Let me tell you something. War is a lot of fun when there’s no enemy.”

         Negan shook his head, looking pained. “God _damn!_ Even for a troll you’re an idiot.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he continued. “I’m going to explain this nice and slow for you. Paul’s kingdom boarders all the others. They will _not_ let it fall without a _fight._ They _will_ send in troops and _crush_ you!”

         “Then I’ll kill them all,” Simon replied with a shrug. His mustache did nothing to hide his smirk. “I’m not scared of anybody.”

         Negan’s rippling image smacked something out of sight. “Leave Beantown, NOW!”

         “Beantown’s old news,” Simon said. He glanced over his shoulder to watch a woman being dragged through the dirt screaming. Chuckling, he turned back to Negan. “We’ve got control over every village twenty miles from here.” Simon leaned in close to the mirror. “And it’s not stopping there. I’m taking my half of the kingdom now. Want to make something of it?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick, Daryl, and Merle followed the dirt path through the forest. Without having to fear the Hunter, there was no reason not to. Daryl glanced at Paul and frowned. Merle’s insistence on dragging him around was slowing them down. Not that he didn’t feel bad for the dog, but his problems weren’t their problems.

         Merle smacked his arm, dropping the rope. “Hey, look.”

         Daryl looked up. Ahead of them was a wooden cart. A large red-headed man was pulling a tarp over the back as an Asian looking kid, a big guy with a mullet, and a young woman with a mean scowl talked. “It’s them!”

         “Hell yeah it is!” Merle grinned and they took off. They stopped in front of the fire the woman was making. Abraham turned at their approach and his bushy brows rose. “Abraham, remember me?” Merle asked.

         “Well I’ll be a troll wearing a tutu,” Abraham muttered. “You got out of prison!” He shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, let me introduce my friends. Well, Glenn you already know.” Abraham pointed to the fat guy. “This is Eugene. A genius at just about everything. Except fighting.”

         “Hello,” Eugene said, nodding politely. “And there is more to life than fighting. And more to fighting than physical skills which, while I may lack, does not mean I am incapable of fighting. In fact, if I were to put my mind to it, I bet I could even beat you.” A pause. “Not that that is something I wish to do at this point in time.”

         Rolling his eyes, Abraham waved his hand at the woman. “And my lovely companion here is Rosita.”

         “Companion, eh?” At Merle’s leer, Rosita flipped him off. And that was that.

         “I don’t suppose ya got the mirror still?” Daryl asked before Merle could make another comment.

         “Mirror?” Glenn asked with a frown.

         Daryl nodded. “It belongs to us.”

         “Is it valuable?” Abraham’s eyes lit up.

         “Nah, ‘s worthless,” Merle said, crossing his arms.

         Rosita huffed. “You came an awfully long way for a worthless mirror,” she remarked, arching an eyebrow.

         The conversation wasn’t getting them anywhere. “It’s a magic mirror, alright?” Daryl said, much to Merle’s audible annoyance. “We came through it by mistake an’ need it to get back to our world.” He followed Abraham to the cart. “Look, all we wanna do is go home. Just let us use it then you can have it an’ do whatever.”

         Abraham sighed and scratched at his mustache. “I feel for you,” he said, “but I don’t have it any more.”

         Glenn gave them an apologetic look. “We swapped it with someone from the village”—he pointed behind himself—“about half an hour ago.”

         “Swapped it!?” Merle snarled. “Fer what!?”

         “This,” Eugene said, walking over and pulling back the tarp. A fluffy white lamb with a pretty pink bow tied around its neck looked up at them.

 

         Rick pulled the cart carrying Paul along the path to catch up with Daryl and Merle. A faint voice in the distance made him pause. Looking around, he spotted a pool of sparkling water.

         “Rick!” the voice said again. This time it was recognizable as Negan’s voice. Frowning, Rick approached the water and peered into it. Negan’s face appeared in the ripples. “Think you can just ignore me, huh?”

         “I don’t work for you anymore, and you can’t control me,” Rick growled.

         Negan smirked. “Oh-hoh _really?”_ He chuckled. “It’s a full moon tonight. _You’re_ smart enough to know what _that_ means. But do your little band of pricks?”

         With a snarl, Rick smacked the water, banishing Negan’s image from the pool.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick eyed the open fields with apprehension. Stifling a growl, he turned to Daryl. “I don’t think we should go here,” he said.

         Daryl’s brows furrowed. “This is where Glenn said the mirror was. ‘Course we’re goin’.”

         “My instincts say this is a bad idea.” Scratching at his beard, Rick shook his head. “This is _farm_ country. Farmers don’t like Wolves.” Unable to keep the growl back this time, he turned and leaned against the wooden fence bordering the fields. “We should stop for breakfast and think of another plan.”

         “Ya already had breakfast,” Daryl reminded him, and Merle snorted. “We’re goin’ into the village. You can do whatever ya want, man.”

         There was no way Rick wasn’t going with them. “Alright…. Alright. Just, you’ll have to keep me away from temptation,” he said, keeping pace with Daryl.

         “Sure. Shouldn’t be too...difficult...” Daryl trailed off, noticing Rick was no longer paying attention.

         Rick leaned over the fence, eyes glued to the flock of woolly sheep grazing in the pasture beyond. He couldn’t stop the low rumbling in his chest at the sight. Had they really already had breakfast? Rick didn’t think so. If they had, he wouldn’t be so hungry now, right?

         The sheep bleated and scattered, perhaps sensing the presence of the Wolf.

         Or maybe it was just because of the shepherdesses making their way over. The blonde leading the group stopped in front of him with a smirk. “Morning,” she greeted, leaning against her shepherd’s crook with one hip popped out to the side. The fluffy skirt of her green dress rode up just a bit.

         “Morning,” Rick replied, eyes darting between the sheep and the woman.

         “I’m Andrea Peep,” the blonde said, batting her lashes at him. “I’m a shepherdess.”

         “I can see that.” Rick glanced at the others. Another blonde girl dressed in yellow—the youngest of the trio – was sitting on top of the gate to the fence, while a brunette woman in brown stood beside her. A third blonde, in pale pink, leaned against the fence beside Andrea.

         Andrea’s gaze dragged up and down Rick’s body. “My, what rugged features you have.” She leaned closer. “If my door wasn’t locked, I’d be scared you’d come into my house and huff and puff, and blow _all_ my clothes off.”

         “Alright, enough,” Daryl grunted, grabbing Rick’s arm and pulling him away. He glared at the shepherdesses all the way down the road until they turned a corner.

 

         Little Lamb Village was as quaint as the name suggested, with Tudor homes and shops complete with thatched roofs—almost all shop signs bore the name of a Peep family member—and wooden carts rolling to and fro, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from little green painted stalls. As Rick, Daryl, and Merle made their way along the cobblestone road, villagers nodded and smiled at them. Some shepherdesses curtsied or eyed them flirtatiously.

         “Welcome one and all to the second day of the Little Lamb Village annual competition!” An older man called out to passing villagers from where he stood up on a podium. “It’s a new day today and a new competition. The best radish in the village!”

         Daryl stopped to watch as the white haired man put down one plate of radishes in order to pick up another.

         “Those were some of the best, to be sure. But the Peep radishes are, once again, out of this world,” the man said. “Also ten-out-of-ten! Both of you come up and get your awards.”

         A couple walked by, shaking their heads and grumbling quietly about the Peeps.

         “Ladies and gentleman, in an hour’s time I’ll announce the winner of best cheese in the village.”

         As the crowd clapped, Daryl shook his head. He supposed small villages had to do something for entertainment. Daryl caught up with Rick and Merle as they crossed through the square.

         “Hey you!” Merle called out, stopping in front of a large covered well, where a big, bald man with a graying goatee sat. “Can you tell us who’s in charge ‘round here?”

         The man looked down at them from his perch. “I am the Village Idiot and I’m in charge of the Wishing Well,” he announced.

         Merle whistled and sighed. He turned an annoyed yet impressed look on Daryl. “You’d think we got magnets in our pockets, the way we keep attractin’ these people.”

         “That’s a nice dog you got there,” the Village Idiot said, nodding at Paul. “He reminds me of someone...”

         Daryl rolled his eyes. They didn’t have time for this. He glanced back at the sound of more clapping and saw a group of people carrying a long, fluffy white… something. “What’s that?”

         The Village Idiot smiled. “That’s the village’s present for Prince Paul. A coronation cloak.” He hopped down from the well. “Are you gonna make wish? It’s very bad luck to pass the Wishing Well without making a wish.”

         Daryl wondered if it was withdrawals that made Merle step up to the well.

         “Might as well. We need some damn good luck at this rate,” Merle muttered. “You too, little brother.”

         Sighing, Daryl moved to stand beside him, Rick following as well. Daryl held his coin and closed his eyes. He supposed since magic was real here, there was no harm giving it a shot. _I wish… I wish we could go home—an’ that Rick doesn’t have to worry ‘bout being sent to prison again._ He tossed his coin along with Merle and Rick.

         A moment passed.

         And another.

_Plink!_ _Plink! Plink!_

         The sound of the coins hitting the bottom echoed up the well.

         At their confused expressions, the Village Idiot shrugged. “It don’t work.” Ignoring their annoyance, he continued, “It _used_ to be a real magic Wishing Well. And folks traveled from all around the Kingdom to have things washed in it. It’s all dried up now, though.” He sighed. “Been dried up for years.” The Village Idiot leaned across the well with a grin. “I have made it my life’s work—”

         “As fascinatin’ as that all is,” Merle interrupted, “what we’re lookin’ fer is a mirror. ‘bout this high.” Merle gestured to around his own height. “We were told someone bought it from Abraham the Dwarf.”

         The Village Idiot stared at them. “I have made it my life’s work to wait by this well until it fills up again.”

         Merle sighed. “’s no use. The man’s a complete idiot.”

         Affronted, the Village Idiot scoffed at him. “If only,” he said. “Now, my father was a _complete_ idiot. I’m still a half-wit.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Everywhere’s full, what with the annual village competition,” Annette—an older woman with graying brown hair—said. She led the way to the barn, lantern held aloft. “But you can stay here if you like. It might not be posh like what you’re used to, though.”

         Daryl shook his head. As _if_ they were used to posh. Honestly, it was better than most places he’d slept. Hell, he’d take it over the apartment even.

         “It stinks,” Merle complained.

         “It’s fine, thanks,” Daryl said, smacking Merle’s arm. “Oh, by the way, you don’t happen to know if someone bought a big black mirror recently, do ya?”

         Annette frowned thoughtfully, then her blue eyes lit up. “Ah, you’ll want to talk to my husband, the local judge. He bought a load of things off those travelers that just passed through,” she said with a smile. “Prizes for the competition. You’ll find him in the inn across the road. They have wonderful food there as well.” She nodded at them and left.

         Behind them, Rick turned from where he’d been gazing intently at the moon through the open window. Then he winced and growled, gripping his middle.

         “Rick, ya okay?” Daryl asked, hurrying to his side.

         “Cramps,” Rick groaned, face screwed up in pain.

         Daryl frowned. Okay then...

         “I need to lay down,” Rick muttered, collapsing onto some hay. He whined as Daryl crouched beside him and patted at his hair. The whine turned into another growl. “I need… I need a soft rabbit. One with long ears...”

         Unsure of what else to do, Daryl nodded and got up. When he returned half and hour later with the rabbit, Rick snatched it from his hands and stroked along it’s ears, eyes wild. The rabbit’s nose twitched and it squirmed in his grasp.

         Daryl knelt next to him again. He pressed the back of his hand against Rick’s forehead and his frown deepened. “Yer runnin’ a fever.”

         Rick’s low rumbling turned into a snarl and he smacked Daryl’s hand away. “Back off!”

         “Hey! Watch the way you speak to my baby brother,” Merle snapped.

         Before either Daryl or Rick could respond, yelling caught their attention.

         “Wolf! _Wolf!”_ a girl shouted. It sounded like that Andrea woman, actually.

         Fearing they’d been found out, Daryl and Merle raced outside.

         The shepherdesses from before were skipping throughout the village, crying “Wolf!” as a man with a wolf mask knocked on people’s doors. Someone else followed behind them, playing a jaunty tune on a flute. It seemed it was just some sort of celebration going on.

         Merle snorted. He pointed up at a sign: The Baa-Bar. “Guess that’s where we’re goin’,” he said.


	13. Chapter 13

         The Baa-Bar was exactly what Daryl expected. Plain white walls, wooden beams and poles, and lots of sturdy, dark wood tables and chairs. It was rustic in a charming way, and filled with villagers.

         “Damn, these _potatoes,_ ” Merle groaned, shoving another forkful into his mouth. His plate was piled with meat, potatoes, bread, and tomatoes.

         Daryl licked his fingers and pointed. “Ya tried the squash? I don’t even like squash an’ this is great.” He tore into a lamb chop and hummed in delight as the savory juices filled his mouth.

         Merle nodded and reached for the plate of squash on the table. But something made him pause. “Hey, look! They got the line up fer the competitions,” he said, using his fork to point behind Daryl.

         Turning, Daryl saw a man tacking up a large scroll paper. He wiped his hands on his pants and stood to look at it. Champion Loaf Baking Competition, Champion Chicken Competition, Beautiful Sheep and Shepherdess Competition, Junior Yodeling… Daryl returned to the Sheep and Shepherdess competition. “The mirror is one of the prizes! For the Sheep an’ Shepherdess competition.”

         “Gonna have to talk to the Judge, then,” Merle grumbled as Daryl sat down again.

         An older woman with blonde hair approached their table and set down a basket of more vegetables. Daryl nodded his thanks to her.

         “Hey,” Merle said, catching her attention, “Is the Judge in?”

         She smiled and adjusted her brown apron. “Not just yet. But he’ll be in for his dinner at 8 o’clock on the dot.”

         “Thanks,” Merle replied around a mouthful of food. “Oh, an’ you can keep this cider flowin’. Best damn thing I ever drank, I swear.”

         “Oh! That cider is made from young Len Peep’s apples. And the lamb,” she said, turning to point off to the side where a man with wavy gray hair and a small beard sat with a group of men and Andrea, talking, “was raised by my brother, Joe Peep.” The woman gave a light laugh. “Everything on this table was made by my family. Best farming family in the whole of the Nine Kingdoms, if I do say so myself.”

         Merle snorted as she walked away.

         A hand landing on his shoulder startled Daryl from the food he’d been stuffing himself with.

         “Started without me, I see,” Rick chuckled. He rounded the table and plopped down in the chair across from Daryl.

         “Uh, shouldn’t ya be in bed?” Daryl asked, brows furrowed.

         “Bed?” Rick scoffed. “How could I sleep when I feel so full of energy?” He grabbed the rack of lamb and tore into it with a growl.

         Daryl shared a look with Merle. Something was definitely up. “What happened to the rabbit?”

         Ripping meat off the bone, Rick looked up at him. “What rabbit?”

         “The one I gave ya to cuddle.”

         “Huh.” Rick dropped the picked clean bone and started into another hunk. “I think she must have hopped away.”

         Daryl had a very bad feeling that that was not the case. But before he could come up with a response, the bar owner walked by.

         “Oh my,” she laughed, watching Rick. “You have an appetite like a wolf, you do.” Taking Rick’s growling as a joke, she turned to Daryl and Merle. “By the way, the Judge just walked in if you want to talk to him.”

         “Yeah, thanks. We’ll do that,” Daryl replied, eyeing Rick’s rather, vocal, enjoyment of the lamb. They’d have to talk about whatever he was going through later.

 

         “So, ya see sir, the mirror actually belongs to us,” Daryl said, sitting across from the Judge. The fire crackled in the fireplace beside them.

         Judge Greene shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. I bought that fair and square.” He took a swig of cider. “I buy a whole batch of things every year, for the village prizes.”

         Merle nodded slowly and rubbed at his chin. “Uh-huh. You know, yer Honor? I know how these things usually work. So how’s about...” He slid some gold coins across the table.

         “I’m a judge,” Judge Greene snapped, glaring at Merle. “I don’t take kindly to folks tryin’ to bribe me.” Merle opened his mouth to argue, but Judge Greene cut him off. “Not another word on the matter! Or I’ll have you thrown out of the village.”

 

         Two young blondes sang and swayed on the little stage near the back of the bar. As the singing turned to yodeling, Rick was startled from watching by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Andrea Peep and one of the other blonde shepherdesses grinning up at him.

         “You’re new, aren’t you?” Andrea said, leaning against the wooden pole. At Rick’s nod, she held out a jar filled with candy. “My sister, Amy, can’t get this jar open. Could you help us, Mr...?”

         Rick took the jar. “Grimes. Rick Grimes.” He popped open the lid and handed it back. And was promptly shoved against a wall by some guy.

         “No outsiders mess with Peep girls, ya understand?” the young man snarled.

         “What’re you doin’ ‘round her anyway, Mr. Grimes?” the second young man demanded, holding his pitchfork at the ready.

         “Excuse me, what do ya think yer doin’?” Daryl demanded, shoving himself between the men and Rick. The young men looked at each other, then at Daryl and Rick. “Why don’t ya back the fuck off?”

         “He was tryin’ to get with our girls,” the first man snapped.

         “Actually,” a new voice piped up, “I’d say he was bein’ a gentleman.”

         The men turned to see the other two shepherdesses from before making their way over. “Ah, Miss Maggie, M-Miss Beth...” the pitchfork wielder stammered, blushing.

         “Jimmy, why don’t you go cool off outside,” the brunette woman said, hands on her hips. “Maybe you could escort my sister home?”

         Jimmy nodded and lowered the pitchfork. “Of course, Miss Maggie.”

         The blonde, Beth, rolled her eyes at her sister, then smiled sweetly up at Jimmy. “Come on,” she chirped, leading him from the bar.

         Alone, now, the other young man grumbled an apology and hurried off in the opposite direction.

         Daryl sighed. “Thanks. He ain’t feelin’ well,” he muttered.

         Maggie huffed. “I can see that.” She gave a halfhearted curtsy. “I’m Maggie Greene, by the way. Those two are always getting into trouble, so sorry for that.”

         Greene. The Judge’s daughter then? “Daryl,” Daryl replied. He patted Rick’s arm. When Rick looked a little too distracted by a passing platter of meat, Daryl introduced him instead. “This is Rick.”

         “Nice to meet you both,” Maggie said. “Anyway, I should get goin’. Got the contest to get ready for.” Her tone implied she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

         Daryl watched her go, then tugged Rick along and out of the bar. “C’mon. ‘For ya start any more shit.”

 

         The moon shone bright, illuminating the green grass of the fields as Rick and Daryl headed back to the barn. Daryl watched as Rick ran ahead, swung himself around a tiny tree, and back to Daryl.

         “I can see everything!” Rick exclaimed, grinning. He pulled Daryl close. “I feel alive!” He bounded away again, then stopped to stare up at the moon. “Look at that… Doesn’t it just make you want to howl?”

         Daryl’s lips quirked into a tiny, bemused smile as Rick did just that. “Not really,” he replied.

         Rick didn’t seem to hear him. “My mom was obsessed with the moon,” he said, voice soft and distant. “She used to drag us all out, just to watch it when we were cubs.” Rick’s eyes closed for a moment, and he breathed in the night air. “The moon makes me hungry…for everything.”

         “Okay,” Daryl huffed. “Well, it’s time to go to sleep. We gotta come up with a plan in the mornin’.” He held onto Rick’s wrist and pulled him to the barn.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle stumbled out of the bar, Paul clutched in his arms. “Damn cider,” he mumbled, patting the golden head. He chuckled. “Hey, wanna go for _walkies!?”_ Laughing even more at his dumb, drunken joke, Merle set Paul down and carted him along the road.

         As he walked, Merle’s good humor faded. “God, who’d’ve thought I’ve felt bad fer…” He trailed off and shook his head. “Didn’t mean to turn you into an ugly ass statue. Haven’t meant to do a lotta things. But hey! If I gotchu into this mess, then I’m gonna getchu out!”

         His one sided conversation was interrupted by the sight of a group of men sneaking out of a house. Merle ducked behind a hedge and peered up over it. The group was carrying pitchforks and lanterns. The men were quickly joined by some shepherdesses. Frowning, Merle crept along the hedge, watching as they all headed for a barn. He turned to Paul and poked his nose. “Wait here,” he whispered.

         Joe Peep sat on a throne of hay, his family gathered along the sides of the barn. “Now, where’s the birthday girl?”

         Andrea Peep stepped through the crowd and gave a tiny curtsy.

         “Why do you think everything the Peeps make tastes so good, Andrea Shepherdess?” Joe asked, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees.

         She looked around the barn, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, there used to be a Magic Wishing Well in town, but everyone knows it’s been dried up,” Andrea replied.

         “Do they, now?” A nasty grin curled Joe’s lips. He chuckled and crooked a finger, beckoning her closer. “You’re of age now. I’m gonna let you in on the family secret.”

         Andrea nodded and hurried to stand beside him.

         “Get to it,” Joe demanded, waving at some of the men. They quickly began sweeping away the hay covering the floor.

         Merle pressed his face against the wall outside, trying to see what it was they were doing through the crack in the wooden planks.

         “The reason there’s no more water in that well,” Joe told Andrea, “is because me and my brother diverted the stream forty years ago.” He grinned and stood, gesturing grandly as the trap doors were pulled open. “The Peeps have all the magic now!”

         Golden sparkles floated out from the hole in the floor, along with the sound of tinkling bells. Merle’s eyes widened. These were some sneaky assholes, that was for sure.

         “Bring the sheep over here,” Joe told one of the men in the back. A dirty, scraggly looking lamb was carried over and strapped into a harness. The men hooked it to a pulley and lowered it into the hole. “That’s an ugly shit, isn’t he? Definitely not gonna win you the competition.”

         A feminine voice called up from the depths. “What do you wash in my magic waters?”

         Joe looked down into the light. “Fill this sheep with your goodness and life,” he commanded.

         The sparkles multiplied and a bubbling sound filled the air. When it stopped, the men pulled the ropes. An adorable little lamb rose from the hole, perfectly fluffy and white.

         “Oh, Joe! It’s amazing,” Andrea gasped, throwing her arms around his neck.

         Joe gripped her arm. “Don’t you ever tell a soul about what you saw here.” His eyes went cold and hard. “Or I’ll cut your throat.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Rick charged into the barn and swung from the beam, before turning to face Daryl. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, beaming. He strode back over to him, nostrils flaring. “I promise you, Daryl, you’d never know love like mine. We’re Mates for life.”

         Daryl looked away. Every time Rick said things like that it was… Not entirely unwelcome. But he couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not. “Stop that. Ya don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout. I know yer—”

         “You _know!?_ ” Rick snarled, lunging. He stalked after Daryl as the man backed away around the poles. “You don’t know. Not about this! It’s driving me crazy.”

         “Fuck off!” Daryl snapped, ducking around Rick. He heard him breathe in his scent and he whirled around. “Just, I don’t know, go to bed!”

         “Or what?” Rick rumbled.

         Daryl snatched up a pitchfork leaning against one of the poles and held it up. Rick grabbed at it and they struggled. With the hay underfoot, it was hard to get a good balance, and Daryl quickly found himself pinned up against the pole. “Rick..”

         Growling, Rick leaned close. “Daryl.”

         “Hey! You’ll never guess what I just found!” Merle exclaimed, jogging into the barn. “I know why those Peeps always win everythin’.”

         Rick shoved himself away and stormed out of the door.

         Merle blinked. “The fuck’s up with him?”

 

         “I fucked up,” Rick muttered to himself, storming across the field. “Now he hates you!” He slammed his hands against the fence to a horse paddock. The animals whinnied and ran. Growling more abuse at himself, he turned and slapped the water in the trough.

         The water rippled and a face appeared. “Rick,” Negan said with a smirk. “How about you tell me about your friends now?”

         Rick bared his teeth. “I’m not telling you anything about him!”

_“Him?”_ came Negan’s amused response. He laughed. “Oh boy. Is he tasty? I bet he is.” Before Rick could respond, Negan spoke again. “Take a look at the _gorgeous_ moon. Then go ahead and tell me what you’d really like to do to him.”

         With a snarl, Rick hurled rocks into the water, destroying Negan’s image. He turned and ran.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write, so I hope you all enjoy it ^_^

         The bright and early call of a rooster brought Daryl to awareness. He yawned and shifted on the scratchy hay.

         “Hey, whatta you think?” Merle’s voice asked.

         Daryl opened his eyes and was greeted by a face full of sheep. “The fuck!?” he exclaimed, jumping back. The sheep baaed blandly and tried to walk out of Merle’s grasp.

         “Don’t scare it! Took me almost three damn hours to catch,” Merle complained as he let it wander to the end of the rope secured around it’s woolly gray neck.

         “...An’ ya stole a sheep, why?” Daryl asked with a frown.

         Merle rolled his eyes. “Fer the Beautiful Sheep and Shepherdess competition. What, you think I’d do it just fer fun?” he replied.

         Probably. But Daryl didn’t feel like having an argument. “Okay, an’ ya wanna tell me why? Don’t see any shepherdesses ‘round here, do you?”

         “We gotta get the mirror somehow, don’t we?” Merle said. He grinned in that way Daryl knew meant trouble. “’Sides, you’ve always been the pretty one, _Darlina._ Betchu could win the competition no problem.”

         “Fuck you,” Daryl snapped, flipping him the middle finger. He plucked some hay from his hair as he pushed himself up. “Ain’t gonna pretend to be no damn girl. ‘Sides, even if I were, that sheep sucks. Looks like it’s gonna keel over any minute.”

         “It won’t once it takes a nice little trip down the Magic Wishing Well. Hell, maybe we could dunk you in too,” Merle said with a snicker.

         Daryl shook his head. Merle was an idiot, but what else was new? There was no winning the competition for them. As much as Merle liked to say otherwise, Daryl was most definitely _not_ a girl, so he couldn’t enter the competition.

         “C’mon, with the right costume and some make up, I’m sure we could getchu in,” Merle insisted.

         “No.” Daryl shot him a glare. However, an idea was forming. When they’d first arrived in Little Lamb Village, they had overheard people complaining that the Peeps always won everything. That would of course mean _this_ competition as well. That Maggie Greene had seemed a little annoyed with Andrea Peep the night before… “I got an idea.”

         “Yeah? What?”

         “I’m gonna go find the older Greene girl. She’s got reason to wanna win the competition. Maybe we can help her out in exchange fer the mirror,” Daryl explained.

         Merle grinned. “Oh-hoh! Lookitchu bein’ all smart an’ shit,” he said with an impressed whistle. “Good. You do that an’ I’m gonna go dip this sheep.”

         Daryl sighed as Merle hurried from the barn, sheep in tow. He wasn’t sure what Merle’s plan was for the poor thing, but if it helped them win then he’d go with it. Daryl picked up his vest from the hay stack and pulled it on as he turned.

         And ran into Rick.

         Rick’s eyes darted around as he breathed heavily, a rope coiled loosely in his hands. His knuckles were bloody and his skin looked clammy. “Hello...”

         Daryl frowned in concern. “Hey… Are…Are ya doin’ okay?” he asked, despite the fact Rick was very clearly _not_ okay.

         “No—Not to good,” Rick replied, licking his lips and wiping at his face with the back of his arm. He blinked and shook his head. “Everything’s fuzzy right now.” Rick shoved past Daryl, twisting the rope in his hands. “I can’t control myself, Daryl. You—You have to tie me up. Keep me from doing something I’ll regret. God, I don’t even know what’s been going on! Last night…” He thrust the rope at Daryl. “Take it! Tie it tight so I can’t escape.”

         As much as he really didn’t want to, Daryl took the rope. “If yer sure.”

         “Yes! I’m sure,” Rick growled irritably. “Just get it over with.” He allowed Daryl to loop the rope around his wrists and bring them behind him and around the wooden pole.

         “This is really bad timing,” Daryl muttered to himself. He wound and tied the rope first in a clove hitch knot, then finished with a square knot. Daryl then took the rest of the rope and circled Rick, binding his chest.

         Rick rumbled and leaned forward to catch Daryl’s scent. “Hmm…What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done, Daryl?” he asked, his tone curious and slightly taunting. “You’d better make sure it’s tight, or I’ll eat you up.”

         Daryl met Rick’s heated gaze. A shiver ran down his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or….something else. Daryl knew he wasn’t kidding though. He hadn’t forgotten that Rick had told him about tearing some man’s throat out with his teeth. With a final tug, he secured Rick. “Yer stuck here. You won’t escape.” He stepped back. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back later.”

 

         “Wolf! _Wolf!”_ Andrea’s voice carried over the bright green fields. She ran past the bloody chicken coop, torn up feathers sticking to her boots. “Wolf!”

         Jimmy, Dan, Len, and her Uncle Joe ran up to the coop.

         “No! They’ve been torn apart!” Shawn swore and smacked the wooden wall. Joe grit his teeth, his hands curling into fists.

 

         Rick panted, slamming his head back against the wooden pole to try and jolt himself back into control. It wasn’t working. He pulled against the ropes, growling. Rick’s head lolled forward and he whined pitifully. “No...”

         Sweat dripped down his face, stuck his curls to his head. His hands twitched. “No. No!” Rick snarled, his canines extending into fangs. His nails lengthened and hardened into claws, digging into his palms and drawing blood. The itching began in his eyes, and he knew they were bleeding from gold to red. His veins bulged and the muscles beneath his skin rippled. He shouted and lunged forward, the ropes snapping and releasing him.

         Rick threw back his head and roared.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You want to help me win?” she repeated, hands falling to rest on her hips. She was wearing a pretty powder blue dress that poofed out around her knees. Likely for the competition. “Why?”

         “Ain’t gonna lie to ya,” Daryl said, looking around the edge of her barn to make sure they were alone. “My brother, an’ Rick, an’ me, we just want the mirror. ‘It’s important to us.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Know ya wanna beat Andrea. The Peeps win all the time, right? So you’d get to win an’ put her in her place, get the trophy or whatever, and we’d just use the mirror.”

         “Hm.” Maggie crossed her arms and eyed him. After a moment she nodded, more to herself than to him. “You’re right. I do want to beat her. And I definitely don’t need that ugly old mirror…This is really actually for Beth. Next year she’ll be able to compete. If I can win this year, maybe she’ll have the confidence for her own turn.” Maggie smiled a little. “If we’re bein’ honest with each other, I don’t even plan to stay here after this competition. One of the merchants that dropped off the mirror, well, we kinda hit it off. I’m hopin’ I can find him again.”

         Daryl’s lips twitched into a tiny smile. “So you’ll let us have the mirror?”

         “Yeah. But that means we have to win. How do you plan on us doin’ that?” Maggie asked, tilting her head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Due to the alarming chicken massacre this morning, we’re moving up the Beautiful Sheep and Shepherdess competition,” Judge Greene announced to the villagers. He gestured down at the table of prized beneath the podium. “The prizes being a trophy and this lovely old mirror.”

         The crowd cheered, their clapping increasing in volume as Andrea Peep, dressed in a rather short yellow dress, flounced down the street with her adorable, golden lamb which seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. She stopped and turned next to her sister, Amy. Her smile faltered.

         Maggie Green strode forward, dress swishing around her legs. A small white ribbon was tied around her neck, matching the one tied around her shepherd’s crook. Her smile was confident, despite the obvious lack of a lamb at her side.

         Daryl watched from the sidelines as she waltzed up to the board by the podium and signed her name with a flourish. He had to admit, Andrea’s furious expression was pretty funny.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle swept the hay from the trap door in the Peep’s barn. The sheep gave a quiet baa as it spun slowly in the harness it had been tied into. He chuckled as he pulled open the doors. This would work and they would win that mirror. Merle just knew it.

         “What do you wash in my magic waters?” the female voice asked, golden sparkles rising from the hole in the floor.

         “The same as you did fer the Peeps,” Merle said, grabbing the rope to lower the sheep. “I want a beautiful sheep.”

         The sheep bleated and kicked its legs as it disappeared into the hole.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Judge Greene held up the sign up sheet. “It looks like we’ve got three contestants this year,” he announced with a smile. It disappeared, though, as he made his way down the stairs. “Maggie, where’s your sheep?”

         “He’s on his way,” Maggie replied, grip tightening on her crook as she shot a quick look at Daryl. “Actually, he’s in the barn.”

         “Then go get him,” Judge Greene said with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to have to disqualify you.”

         Daryl chewed on his thumb nail. He really hoped Merle had finished making that sheep look at least somewhat nice. If they didn’t win, not only would they have humiliated Maggie in front of her father, but they’d lose the mirror. Though he supposed they could always steal the mirror from whoever won.

         Returning to the podium, Judge Greene continued. “Now, to start the competition we’ll start with the age old tradition of the contestants singing their favorite sheep song.” He gestured down at the girls. “Amy, you’ll go first. Good luck.”

         Amy smiled at her sister and then hurried up onto the platform that was set up in the center of the square. Someone with an accordion began to play and the younger Peep sister sung her rendition of “Ba Ba Black Sheep”.

         A flash of pink caught Daryl’s attention and he turned his head. Maggie was hurrying through the crowd, a bright pink lamb at her side, while Merle snuck around the back.

         “Told you I’d get it done,” Merle said as he stopped beside Daryl.

         Daryl shook his head. “Don’t know if it’s cute or ugly as hell. But considerin’ Andrea’s, these people might love it.”

         They turned back as Andrea hopped up onto the platform. As the music started up, she swung her hips and began to sing.

_“Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep,_

_and doesn’t know where to find them._

_Leave ‘em alone,_

_and they’ll come home,_

_wagging their tails behind them.”_

         Merle whistled. “Damn. Never knew a sheep song could be sexy,” he said with a leer. And it seemed the other crowd members agreed, based on their claps. It certainly wasn’t for her singing skills.

         “Yer an idiot,” Daryl muttered. “Now pay attention. Maggie’s up next.”

         Maggie climbed the wooden stairs and gazed out at the crowd. She caught Daryl’s eyes and at his nod, she took a deep breath.

         Stomp, stomp, clap.

         Stomp, stomp, clap.

         Stomp, stomp, clap.

_“Buddy you’re a lamb, make a big bleat,_

_Playin’ in the fields, gonna make a big ram some day!”_

         Despite the confused looks of the crowd, she kept going. Daryl was impressed, honestly.

_“Ya got wool on your face, ya big disgrace,_

_Wavin’ your fleece all over the place, singin’_

_We will, we will shear you!”_

         Apparently Merle had some ability to empathize within him after all, because he found a barrel and began smacking his palms against it to the beat. Daryl nodded and picked up the stomping and clapping. Nearby, Beth saw what they were doing and joined in, singing along with her sister.

         And that was all that was needed to get the rest of the crowd to copy them. Encouraged, Maggie grinned and spun and stomped across the stage.

_“Buddy your a young ewe, lookit you,_

_Playin’ in the fields, gonna be a big ram someday!_

_Ya got wool on your face, ya big disgrace!_

_Wavin’ your fleexe all over the place, singin’_

_We will, we will shear you!”_

_We will, we will shear you!”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Keep it under control,” Rick muttered to himself as he stalked along the fences of the fields. He growled and leaned against a fence. “Keep it together. Can’t lose control.”

         Two young shepherdesses skipped by in the distance.

         Rick’s stomach rumbled and he pushed himself away. “No! No. I am calm… I am in control… I am serene...” His gaze drifted back to the girls. “I’m very serenely _hungry.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Three beautiful girls, and three beautiful lambs,” Judge Greene said as he walked past the stage where Maggie, Andrea, and Amy awaited his decision, lambs at their sides. He paced a few times, then stopped. “A difficult decision, indeed. I award Amy an eight-out-of-ten and a well earned third place.”

         The crowd applauded politely. Andrea squeezed Amy’s arm gently, and looked surprisingly genuine in her support of her sister.

         Judge Greene looked over the remaining two lambs. “Both are very beautiful sheep, there’s no doubt about that.” He seemed to struggle a bit with his decision. It wouldn’t be taken well if he showed favoritism to his daughter, but the Peeps were also favorites of the villagers. “I have to award Andrea a ten-out-of-ten.”

         Andrea grinned.

         “But! I also have to give Maggie a ten-out-of-ten,” Judge Greene said, stopping the applause short.

         “There can’t be a tie!” Joe Peep snapped, shoving through the crowd to stand at the front. “Someone has to win.”

         Maggie looked to Andrea. “What if you get the trophy and I’ll have the mirror?” she offered.

         “No! There has to be one winner,” Joe demanded.

         “Yeah, besides, you’re just playin’ favorites with your daughter,” Len sneered.

         “Now back off, the both of you,” Judge Greene told them with a frown. He pushed past them and climbed onto the podium. “Look, this here is a Shepherdess competition. We’ll set up and obstacle course, and whoever guides her sheep into the pen in the shortest time—using only sheep dogs and commands—wins.” He shot Joe an annoyed look. “Does that work for you?”

         Joe grumbled but nodded. “Fine, alright.”

         “No! I don’t have a sheep dog,” Maggie spoke up. Her expression said her father should have already known that. But he only gave an apologetic shrug. She turned to look at Daryl.

         “Merle, we gotta do somethin’,” Daryl said.

         “Like what? We ain’t got a dog,” Merle snapped, crossing his arms.

         “Excuse me,” the Village Idiot piped up, “but you do have a dog.”

         Merle rolled his eyes. “Not now, can’tchu see I’m thinkin’?” He snorted. “’Sides, I ain’t got a dog...” Merle glanced down at Paul, then frowned at the Village Idiot. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that dog is—” He looked at the well the man was sitting on. Then back at Paul. That was it! Merle grabbed the rope and hauled Paul down the street.

 

         Because everyone was still in the town square, it was easy for Merle to sneak into the Peep’s barn for a second time. He got Paul set up in the harness and threw open the trap doors. Chuckling to himself, Merle lowered Paul into the water. “Magic Wishin’ Well, use yer magic, uh, water to bring to uh… bring back this poor dog trapped in a gold body.”

         “Oh no, not _you_ again,” the Well complained.

         Merle blinked. He didn’t know the Well was aware of anything, let alone who used it. Or cared. Still, he could tell by the swirling golden sparkles that the Well was listening to him.

         The moment it finished, he pulled on the rope, raising Paul back out of the well. He was still a golden statue. “C’mon...” Merle muttered, unhooking him and crouching down to wave his hands in front of his face. “Work, dammit!” He patted around in the hay and found a stick, which he tossed. “Go on, fetch!”

         Golden sparkles passed up Paul’s paws and the sound of cracking echoed throughout the barn. Merle whooped and stood. “Hell yeah! Welcome back!”

         Paul growled and lunged, chomping down on Merle’s leg.

         “Ow! What the fuck’s that fer!?” Merle yelped, jumping back.

_“Moron,”_ Paul barked. _“Why did you turn me into gold?”_

         Merle rolled his eyes. “It was a fuckin’ accident! Damn. I was tryin’ to protect you from those trolls.”

         Paul huffed and sneezed. “You’re the worst Manservant I’ve ever had. A complete idiot.”

         “We ain’t got time fer this! Look, I need yer help,” Merle said.

 

         “Alright, the course is set up and it’s now time for the tie breaker,” Judge Greene announced. He leaned over the railing. “Andrea, are you ready to go?”

         “I am,” Andrea replied with a nod.

         Judge Greene turned to the large green clock with a shepherd’s crook that worked as a sort of metronome. “Starting...Now!” He pulled a small lever and the hands on the clock whirred to life.

         Andrea brought her fingers to her mouth and let out a loud whistle. Her dog—a Shetland sheepdog—perked it’s ears and tilted it’s head. She whistled again, and again. The dog leapt into action, barking at the lamb and getting it to run. The two raced down the fenced path through the village to the sound of cheers from the crowd. As soon as the sheep passed into the enclosure, Andrea slammed the gate closed. “Gates closed!”  
Judge Greene stopped the clock. “Done in eighty-five seconds!”

         As the crowd clapped, Andrea led her lamb and dog out of the course and Daryl helped Maggie get her lamb set at the starting point. Unfortunately, without a dog, he wasn’t sure how Maggie would win.

         “Time starts...Now!” Judge Greene shouted.

         Desperately, Maggie shouted, “Come on lamb! Come on!” She whistled and jumped up and down, trying to get the lamb to do something other than stand there and baa.

         The villagers snickered to themselves. Daryl could understand why Maggie wanted to leave. These people were assholes.

         “We’ve reached thirty seconds!”

         “Please lamb! Come on!” Maggie begged.

         “Going up to fifty!”

         Paul bounded over the fence and nipped at the lamb’s ankles. _“Come on, Pinkie.”_ He barked and chased it down the path. _“Hurry up you stupid little sheep!”_

         Daryl couldn’t help but let out a cheer as loud as Maggie’s as they watched Paul and the lamb sprint through the obstacle course. Paul followed the sheep into the pen and Maggie shut the gate.

         “Gate’s closed!”

         Judge Greene stopped the clock with a grin. “Eighty-three seconds! Maggie wins!”

         The crowd erupted into cheers, even as Andrea and Joe stormed off, arguing among themselves.

         Daryl stooped to scratch Paul behind the ears. He didn’t know how Merle had managed it, but he was glad to see the Prince-turned-pup. “Thank you,” Daryl whispered.

         Maggie gave her father a hug and accepted the trophy and the mirror. When she turned to face the crowd, she sent Daryl and Merle an elated smile. Daryl responded with a small smile of his own.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

         Merle smacked the mirror. “Fuckin’ stupid-ass thing!” he snarled. “Why the hell ain’t it workin’?”

         “How am I supposed to know?” Daryl retorted, crossing his arms.

         “I was talkin’ to Paul,” Merle said.

_“It’s not turned on.”_ Paul tilted his head from side to side. _“There’s probably a secret catch somewhere.”_

         “Not turned on? Great,” Merle grunted, kicking the useless thing.

         Daryl frowned and looked it over for a third time. Still, nothing stood out. No levers or buttons or magical words.

         Merle glared down at Paul. “How’d you get through it in the first place, huh?”

_“I fell into it,”_ Paul replied. _“So that means it shouldn’t be that hard to find.”_

         “Hm.” Daryl’s fingers caught on the edge of one of the circular markings on the mirror. Pressing on it, he managed to turn it so it slid down out of it’s hole a little. The glass rippled and cleared, showing the park in Atlanta. “It worked!”

         “Wolf! _Wolf!_ ”

         A single blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

         Daryl threw a tarp over the mirror and he and Merle ran out of the barn.

         “Andrea Peep’s been murdered!” Len shouted as he charged into the village. A group of farmers followed after him, hauling Rick along with them. Despite his protests they punched him and villagers brandished pitchforks in his face.

         “Daryl!” Rick locked eyes with Daryl as he was dragged past him.

         “Rick!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Simon led his army down the blood soaked streets of whatever village it was they’d found. It didn’t matter to him what it was called, just that it was fun to raid. Bodies had been kicked to the side to make room for them. He grinned at the carnage. Another hard day’s work had paid off.

         That good mood was ruined as pain spiked through his head. Simon groaned, doubling over, his hands clutched at his temples. A warm feeling seeped from his nose into his mustache. His nose was bleeding. Simon grabbed the front of the tunic of one of his men, hauling him over. “Mirror! Find me a mirror!”

         The troll turned away and herded the others around to ransack the homes for a mirror. As soon as one was brought to Simon, he snatched it away and glared into the mirror. “You’re dead!” he growled. “Next time I see you, you’re dead!”

         “You’ll stop fighting, _now!_ ” Negan shouted from the mirror. “Or you _will_ be overrun and we will lose the whole damn Kingdom! Get that through your thick skull!”

         Simon sneered. “I’m taking this Kingdom. And then I’m coming for you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Yellow pins with skulls and crossbones on the front were scattered across the map of the 4th Kingdom.

         “The Troll King is ravaging the Kingdom,” Lord Ezekiel said, shaking his head. He turned from the map and walked over to the table.

         “It looks like some sort of disease,” Lord Aaron remarked with a frown. “But surely the Troll King can’t be strong enough to destroy the entire Kingdom?”

         “And who will stop them?” Lord Ezekiel asked, leaning against the table. With a sigh and pushed back and walked around. “If no one else will say it, then I must. Where is Paul in our hour of need? He was supposed to be enacting pre-arranged acts of bravery before his coronation. And now there’s a real crisis and he’s just…run away. I’ having concerns over whether or not he is fit to be King.” He turned to Jerry, who was sitting off to the side. “Write that down.”

         The gilded double doors swung open and a young man dressed in stately purples and golds walked in. “Sirs, excuse me, but I have awful news.”

         “What? What is it?” Lord Eric asked, his hand finding Lord Aaron’s.

         “Lady Deana’s horse as returned from the Great Forest...” the young man gave them all a look. “Riderless.”

         A defeated silence fell over the room. Clasping a hand over his mouth, Lord Eric shook his head. He looked up at Lord Aaron, who squeezed his hand. But the heavy news weighed on all of them.

         Lord Ezekiel sank into his chair at the head of the table. “Gentlemen, we have run out of options. We must accept assistance from the 1st and 9th Kingdoms to protect our people.” He gestured to Jerry, who handed him a book. “The price for their aid, however, is indeed high. The 4th Kingdom will be divided into quarters, and be run by the Council of the Nine Kingdoms in perpetuity. Paul will forfeit any right of inheriting the throne.”

         “No!” Lord Eric shouted, standing. “I won’t accept it!”

         “We have no choice, Lord Eric. We must sign or lose everything,” Lord Ezekiel told him sternly. He picked up the quill and held it out to him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Burn the wolf!” was the cry that rang throughout Little Lamb Village, as the villagers gathered hay and sticks to build a pyre. Daryl slunk by them and approached the makeshift cell.

         “Daryl!” Rick exclaimed, grabbing the wooden bars of his cage. “Daryl, there’s been an awful mistake.”

         Daryl looked into Rick’s eyes. They were so honest. He believed Rick was innocent, despite his recent behavior. But he didn’t know what to do. “Rick… I… I don’t know how to help ya. This ain’t somethin’ I’ve ever...” He braced a hand against the wood and sighed. He’d never been able to get Merle out of trouble, so how could he possibly do that for Rick?

         A quiet whine escaped Rick’s throat as he reached out to touch Daryl’s hand. “I understand.” He leaned his head against the bars, as though trying to get as close as possible. “This ain’t your mess, Daryl. It’s mine and… You have the mirror now. Y’all can go back home. That’s what you wanted, right?”

         Guilt clutched Daryl’s heart. Rick had done so much for them. For him. He couldn’t just leave him to be burned alive. Daryl didn’t know how, but he would help Rick. “Home can wait a little longer.”

 

         Merle sat on a bale of hay, staring into the mirror. “That’s home,” he sighed. Even if home could be a piece of shit, it was better than the crazy around here.

_“Not for me,”_ Paul replied with a huff. _“You can’t seriously be considering going home while you remain my Manservant.”_

         Turning, Merle frowned down at the dog. “Let’s get somthin’ straight here, Yer Royal Dogness. I ain’t yer Manservant.” His argument with Paul was interrupted by Daryl dropping onto the hay beside him. Merle raised an eyebrow. “So? You tell him we’re goin’ home?”

         “Nope.”

         “What'chu mean ‘nope’!?”

         Daryl chewed on his thumb nail. “I sorta agreed to…represent ‘im. In court.”

         Merle exploded up from his seat. “The hell’s wrong with you!?”

         “He didn’t kill anybody! I know he didn’t,” Daryl said, glaring up at him.

         “How naive can you fuckin’ be? Nah… Nah, yer gettin’ some sorta _feelins_ for him, ain’tchu?” Merle snarled, grabbing Daryl’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “You listin’ an’ you listin’ good, baby brother. I didn’t raise no damn fag, an’ I certainly didn’t raise no damn lawyer!”

         Daryl slapped his hand away. “Fuck you! Ya didn’t raise me at all! You were constantly in fuckin’ juvy an’ then in jail! The amount of times I bailed yer dumb ass out, you’d think _I_ was the one raisin’ _you!”_ He stormed to the other side of the barn. “I don’t care what ya think. I ain’t leavin’ ‘til we make sure Rick ain’t gonna get killed by these villagers.”

         At first, Merle just stared at him. He sucked on his teeth, grimaced, and turned and shut off the mirror. “Fine! Get yer ass over here an’ help me hide this thing under the hay.”

         Just barely containing his relief, Daryl hurried over and grabbed one side of the mirror. They heaved it into the wagon and covered it with straw.

         “Better not make me regret this,” Merle growled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl plucked at the black robe and huffed again. Stupid fucking court rules. He felt like an idiot. It certainly didn’t help that he had no clue what he was doing; he’d wanted to ask Maggie about the laws in the village, get her opinion, but she’d left to go after Glenn before he could. Vaguely he recalled some things Michonne had told him once—having been in training to become a lawyer. But Daryl had a hard time believing law school taught you how to defend a werewolf being accused of eating some young woman.

         “You look dumb as shit,” Merle said helpfully as Daryl tromped down the wooden stairs of the courthouse.

         “Ain’t gotta choice, so shut it,” Daryl snapped.

         Merle crossed his arms. “An’ just how do you think yer gonna win this? You ain’t ever been in court before.”

         Before Daryl could retort, two villagers pushed Rick through the hallway.

         “Daryl… I do appreciate you wanting to help—believe me I do—but I doubt the jury is going to be swayed,” Rick told him, looking defeated.

         Snorting, Daryl patted his chest. “That’s quitter talk, an’ I won’t have it. We _will_ win this.” He walked past him, and stepped through the rounded wooden door one of the villagers opened. “Any jury can be swayed, or whatev—”

         Bleats and baas echoed throughout the room. The jury box was filled, not with villagers, but with sheep.

         Maybe Rick had a point.

         The villagers in the back shouted swears at Rick as he was shoved up onto a stand behind the desk where Daryl set the files he’d been given for the case.

         “All rise for the Honorable Judge,” a man announced.

         Judge Green climbed up to his podium and sat, allowing everyone else to do the same. He leaned over the edge and looked sternly out at the room. “It gives me no pleasure to sentence this Wolf to death. For the terrible crime of—”

         “Objection, Yer Honor!” Daryl shouted, standing. “We haven’t heard any evidence yet.”

         “Oh.” Judge Greene blinked down at him, sighed, and then sat back. “Very well. Move it along, then.”

         Daryl nodded and then turned to face the court. “Ladies an’ gentlemen… Ewes an’ rams of the jury,” he started, feeling even more ridiculous, “before ya leave this court room today, I’ll not only have proved my client’s innocence, but also have unmasked the real killer.” Daryl didn’t need to look up to know Merle was smirking at him as he watched.

         He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and walked over to Rick. “Look at this man. Is he a wolf? No. But he’s a stranger.” Daryl nodded at his own words. He had an idea of where he could go with this. “An’ so stranger equals wolf, an’ wolf equals killer, is that what we’re sayin’?”

         “Very well put,” Judge Greene spoke up. “Now on to the sentencing.”

         The villagers’ murmurings were definitely in favor of that.

         That wasn’t what he meant. “Yer Honor, I was only just startin’.” Daryl stepped away from Rick. “I’d like to call my first witness. Joe Peep.”

         Despite the general displeasure of the crowd, Joe was brought up to the witness stand. He glared down at Daryl, eyes dark and menacing.

         “Ya claim ya saw my client runnin’ away from the scene of the crime, that right?” Daryl asked.

         Joe let his gaze drift to Rick. “Clear as daylight. It was him, alright.”

         Daryl ignored the jeers of the villagers and held up a small piece of paper. “I’m wonderin’ if you can read this.”

         “’Course I can.” Joe snatched the paper. He squinted at it a little. “No trespassing, according to—”

         Daryl grabbed the paper back and walked across the room and held it up. “I wonder if you can read it now! At the same distance ya claim ya saw my client runnin’ away from the murder scene.”

         Joe smirked. “According to Little Lamb Council ruling number 741B, bylaw 21A.”

         The villagers laughed and Daryl quickly put the paper away, feeling humiliated. He’d thought for sure Joe wouldn’t be able to see it from so far away. “No further questions!”

         Judge Greene used his gavel to quiet the court.

         Daryl approached his next witness, trying not to notice the fact that Merle and Paul were sneaking out of the room. They apparently couldn’t take watching the train wreck any longer. “Miss Amy Peep, what is yer profession?”

         “I’m a Shepherdess,” Amy replied sweetly.

         “Shepherdess?” Daryl repeated, nodding slowly as he turned to the court. “Or temptress?”

         Amy gaped at him. “I’m a good girl!” she snapped, offended. Amy turned her glare onto Rick. “That _Wol_ _f,_ he came up to us. Kept trying to show us his tail.”

         “That’s a lie!” Rick exclaimed, speaking up for the first time during the trial.

         Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Then do ya wanna explain why I remember Andrea flirting with him, and not the other way around? That night in the Baa-Bar?”

         Judge Greene leaned over the podium. “Are you insinuating that a girl would kiss a man before she’s married?” he demanded, incredulous and bordering on angry.

         “A bit more’n that, Yer Honor,” Daryl said with a huff. A horrified gasp spread through the room.

         “Don’t you try my patience,” Judge Greene said, jabbing a finger in Daryl’s direction. “You are this close”—he held his forefinger and thumb inches apart—“from being thrown on the bonfire with the Wolf.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“I can’t believe you talked me into this,”_ Paul muttered as he followed Merle to the scene of the crime, his ears pinned back against his head. He plopped down on a patch of dirt underneath a huge old oak and looked up at him. _“Well?”_

         Merle rolled his eyes. _“Well,_ what can you smell?” he asked, gesturing at the chalk outline of Andrea. Shepherd’s crook and all. Fuckin’ weird villagers.

_“Your body odor,”_ Paul replied cooly.

         Giving Paul a look, Merle decided to ignore the comment. Besides, he was pretty sure he smelled great. In a rustic sort of way. “Just do it already. See what’chu can smell.”

         Paul snorted and stood. _“Why don’t_ you _get on all fours and see what_ you _can smell?”_ However, he put his nose to the ground and began sniffing. _“It’s mostly feet at ground level, did you know that?”_

         Crossing his arms, Merle waited to see if Paul would pick up anything. Daryl was going down quickly in that court room without any evidence to support Rick. While Merle didn’t care whether Rick lived or burned, his baby brother did and well, he had to live with Daryl after this. It’d be a pain in the ass if he was moping around constantly.

         “Hey, you get any scents yet?”

_“There are hundreds of scents.”_

         Merle shook his head. He smirked. “Uh, yeah, maybe. But only a great huntin’ Prince like yerself could find the one we’re lookin’ for,” he said.

_“You’re right.”_ Paul dug his nose into one spot, then took off.

         “Finally,” Merle grunted, running after him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “The night before the murder, there was a hen house homicide, resulting in the death of ten chickens,” Judge Greene said, glaring down at Rick. “Anything to do with you?”

         Daryl looked back and could see the shame and guilt in Rick’s eyes. Dammit, that was the last thing they needed. Of course the villagers would use that against him, despite there being a major difference between eating chicken and eating a human.

         Before Rick could respond, Judge Greene lifted up a piece of blue cloth covered with white feathers. “And before you think of lying to me, you should know we found this.” The cloth was an exact match to the shirt Rick wore, tucked in where it once hadn’t been.

         Rick straightened his stance and looked Judge Greene in the eyes. “I did eat the chickens b—”

         “And then you killed Andrea Peep,” Judge Greene snapped.

         “No! Eating a few chickens doesn’t make me a killer,” Rick protested, his hands clenching within their bonds.

         “Of course it doesn’t,” Daryl agreed with a frown. “An’ these chicken’s have nothin’ to do with this trial.” He walked to the center of the room. “This trial is about the murder of Andrea Peep. An’ I think it’s about time I revealed who the real killer is.” Despite having absolutely no evidence. Daryl would have to wing it. More so than he already was.

         Judge Greene raised his eyebrows, a silent and annoyed command to get on with it.

         “An’ the real killer…” Daryl scrambled through the possibilities. “...There was another man walking around dressed as a wolf,” he said, the idea hitting him like a bolt to the head. “The man in the wolf mask is the killer!”

         The crowd murmured, though it was unclear whether it was in agreement or not.

         With a creak in the podium, Judge Greene leaned over it again to fix Daryl with a hard stare. “The honor of playing the Wolf in the annual fair has always gone to an unimpeachable member of our society.”

         “Doesn’t matter! Bring ‘im in here an’ I’ll get the truth outta the asshole,” Daryl snarled.

         “…And when the honor was bestowed upon _me,”_ Judge Greene continued, “I was only too happy to accept.”

         Fuck. Daryl slunk back to the desk, the shouts of anger echoing in his ears. Rotten cabbage rained down on him and Rick from the villagers, pelting them in the head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle frowned as Paul led him closer to the village and over to the fence outside the Peep’s barn. “Look, I already know about the Peep barn. We’ve been here before, remember?”

_“This is where she came from,”_ Paul explained. _“She was here just before she was murdered.”_ Without waiting for a response, he hurried down the road again, tail wagging.

         “So what if this is where she came from?” Merle complained, following Paul into the barn. However, what he saw answered that question.

         The hole containing the Magic Wishing Well water was destroyed. Nothing left but dirt and rubble.

_“I’m getting a new scent,”_ Paul announced, snuffling through the hay by the well. _“Something important is here.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “Members of the jury, you have heard the evidence,” Judge Greene said. He shot Rick and Daryl a look. “Most of it ridiculous.”

         One of the villagers went to one end of the court and set up a sign saying ‘Not Guilty’, beyond which was a wooden pen. Another set up a different sign on the other side with ‘Guilty’ written on it. The pen behind that one was filled with vegetables.

         “Those who think he’s not guilty, go into the left-hand pen,” Judge Greene explained. “Those who think he’s guilty, go into the right-hand pen.”

         Daryl couldn’t believe it. The Judge was supposed to lead a fair trial. “This ain’t fair! The ‘Guilty’ pen is full of food!”

         The ‘jury’ was let out, and one-by-one they filed into the pen labeled ‘Guilty’.

         Judge Greene stood. “By a unanimous decision, you have been found guilty of murder. I sentence you to be burned at the stake.”

         “Objection!” Daryl shouted as Rick was hauled from the stand. “No! Yer Honor!” He chased after the villagers but was grabbed and held back from reaching Rick. Daryl struggled as they dragged him along to the village square.

         Rick was shoved against the wooden pole in the center of the pyre. One man held him still as the other tied him to it with rope.

         “Rick!” Daryl cried. He slipped out of the robes, whirled and punched one of the guys holding him, only to be grabbed again. _“Rick!”_

         “Burn the Wolf! Burn the Wolf!” The bloodthirsty chanting of the villagers was deafening.

         “Ya can’t do this!” Daryl screamed at Judge Greene as he passed, torch in hand. “He wasn’t given a fair trial!”

         Joe held out his hand. “She was my family. I’ll do this.”

         Judge Greene nodded and gave him the torch.

         “STOP!” Merle burst through the crowd, shoving Joe away just before the flames touched the pyre. “Stop! Rick didn’t kill Andrea Peep! I can prove it!”

         “He’ll say anything,” Joe scoffed, bending to light the pyre.

         Once again Merle pushed him away. He grabbed hold of the torch and yanked, but Joe held firm. “The Peep family’s cheated you fer years!” Merle told the villagers. “They have their own Magic Well!”

         The angry shouts died into confused mutterings.

         “That’s a lie!” Joe snarled.

         Merle yanked the torch from his grasp and dropped it on the cobblestones. The flame flickered and went out. He turned on Joe, puffing up his chest. “When Andrea lost, she wrecked yer well, didn’t she?” Merle sneered. “Yeah. You got mad an’ followed her out into the fields, an’ you killed her.”

         Joe’s lip curled beneath his beard. “I don’t know what your talking about. We don’t have a wishing well.”

         Rolling his eyes, Merle turned to the crowd. “Why do you think the Peeps win the competition year after year, huh? Why do you think their food tastes so much better’n yers?”

         “I believe him!” Annette exclaimed, stepping out from the crowd. She glared at Joe. “You Peeps have had it good for too long.”

         Joe have a snort of derision. “Where’s the proof for all this, then?” he demanded, holding his hands out. “You can’t accuse someone without proof. What proof do you have that I killed her?”

         Merle sauntered up to him. “Where’s your coat, Joe? The one you was wearin’ last night?” He gave a sharp whistle.

         The crowd parted as Paul trotted up to him, a bloody coat held in his mouth. Merle took it from him and held it up high. He looked at Joe with a nasty grin. “She wasn’t yellin’ wolf at all, was she? She was screamin’ your name.”

         Joe grit his teeth. “She ruined the Well!” he shouted. “The dirty little slut!”

         The villagers were outraged. As they descended upon Joe, Merle dropped the coat and turned to untie Rick. Daryl climbed up beside him and yanked at the ropes.

         “Let’s get outta here,” Daryl said, giving Rick a small smile.


	16. Chapter 16

         “Hey, uh, so ya feelin’ back to normal?” Daryl asked Rick as they crossed the field to the barn, Merle and Paul hurrying along ahead of them.

         “Yes, I’m doing much better, thanks to you,” Rick replied, smiling. It faltered a little and he sighed. “I can’t remember much about what happened while I was…under the influence. But you and Merle, and Paul of course, did so much for me. Thank you again.”

         Daryl gave a quiet huff of amusement. “Don’t mention it.”

         “What the hell happened to the wagon!?” Merle stormed over to the empty spot in the barn where the wagon used to be. “The _mirror!”_

         Annette rounded a bale of hay, basket of chicken eggs swinging from her arm. “Oh, Jimmy’s taking the pigs to market,” she told them as she passed. “He left just a couple of hours ago.”

         Of course. Things couldn’t be easy for once. Daryl sighed. “Which way an’ how far?”

         Shaking her head, Annette paused at the door to the barn. “It’s not a journey you’re gonna wanna make on foot.”

 

         Daryl ignored the villagers as they walked through the village square. The sooner they left the place the better, as far as he was concerned.

         “Hey, did you enjoy your stay at our village?” the Village Idiot called out to them.

         “About as much as a fuckin’ bullet to the head,” Merle grumbled.

         The Village Idiot, however, wasn’t paying attention. Instead he was staring down at Paul. “I wish I could remember who that dog reminds me of.”

         Merle rolled his eyes. “How ‘bout Prince Paul?”

         “Prince Paul?” the Village Idiot laughed. “Don’t be silly. No! I know. It was a puppy I once knew named Mr. Fleas.”

_“Mr. Fleas. Great.”_ Paul gave a low whine.

         “Let’s just go,” Daryl said, turning away. “We’ve wasted time here long enough.”

         “Wait! Ain’t you gonna make a wish?” the Village Idiot asked.

         Daryl snorted and tossed him a coin. “Why don’t ya make it for us?”

         Rick chuckled and led them away from the Well.

         The Village Idiot looked at the coin, bit it, and tossed it into the Well. A splash echoed up from far below. “That sound… Our Well’s got it’s water back!” He grabbed a hand bell and rushed out into the square, ringing it with enthusiasm. “The water’s back on!”

         Cheers rose from the villagers as sparkling water burst from the Magic Wishing Well, creating a rainbow over the square. The Village Idiot grinned and laughed as water rained down on him. “Finally! I’m a Complete Idiot!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The wagon bounced over the dirt road which wound through the vibrant green meadows, dust kicking up from the hooves of the huge work horse as it trotted along. Soaring, forested mountains rose high into the clouds in the distance.

         Daryl flipped the page of one of the self-help books Rick had shared, titled _Curing Why I’m So Miserable_.

_Ask yourself these questions:_

_Do you frequently conceal your emotions?_

_Do you feel like you do everything for other people and then resent it?_

         Daryl chewed on his bottom lip. These things were always so weird. He glanced up to see Merle was even reading one. _How To Heal Yourself In Seven Days._ Daryl snorted. Yeah, it would take more than a self-help book to help Merle.

         Rick had been somewhat secretive of the book he was reading. Some thin, beige thing that he looked to be reading religiously. Until he finished. Then he chucked it over the side of the wagon and moved to sit next to Daryl.

         Merle flipped to the next page in his book.

_“Hang on, I’m not done yet. Turn it back,”_ Paul complained, tongue lolling. Merle shook his head and did as he was asked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Pink and white heart balloons filled the sweet, candy scented air of the town. A man dressed in a cream suit carried a harp past the wagon, nodding and smiling cheerily at the driver. Couples filled the street, laughing and talking and making eyes at one another. The buildings that weren’t Tudor styled were various pastel colors, and pink and red streamers were strung up between them.

         “The fuck are we?” Merle muttered, looking vaguely horrified. He batted away a cherry blossom petal that landed on his face.

         “Kissing Town,” Rick explained with a smile. His gaze landed on Daryl. “It’s the most romantic place in the Nine Kingdoms, where everyone falls in love.”

         Daryl hopped out of the wagon. “So it’s some mushy bullshit, then.”

         Merle gave Rick a pointed look as he jumped down from the wagon to follow Daryl. “Which we didn’t come here for. We’re here for the mirror.”

         A young blonde child wearing a white robe and golden wings skipped up to them, literally sparkling. “Hello! I’ve been looking for you all day,” she greeted, holding her golden bow and arrow against her chest. She beamed up at Daryl. “I can see love and fortune coming your way.”

         Unsure of how else to respond, Daryl grimaced. “Great. Thanks.”

         “Great romance, great wealth before this very night is out,” the girl continued sweetly.

         “Uh-huh, sure. And which one of us makes the big bucks?” Merle asked with a sneer.

         The girl squinted up at him. “Your aura is cloudy. Just give me a couple of coins?”

         Daryl knew it was probably a scam, but she was just a kid. He handed her a few coins.

         “Dammit, Darlina! Yer too damn soft,” Merle growled.

         “Shut it,” Daryl snapped back.

         Tapping his arm, the girl got Daryl’s attention again. “If you go that way”—she pointed off to the left—“you might find what you’re looking for. Good bye.” She smiled again and skipped away.

         Looking to where she pointed, Daryl spotted the wagon full of pigs, parked right outside the Butcher’s shop. “How’d she know that?” Shaking his head, he followed the others over to the wagon. Unfortunately, there was no mirror in sight.

         Rick turned to face Jimmy, who’d just come out of the shop. “Hey, was there a mirror in here?” he asked.

         Blinking away his surprise, Jimmy nodded and looked sheepish. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

         “Where is it?” Daryl demanded.

         “You wouldn’t want it anyway. It’s covered in pig swill,” Jimmy protested.

         Merle grabbed Jimmy by the lapels of his brown wool jacket and shook him. “Where the hell is it!?”

         Jimmy held up his hands. “I don’t know! Not exactly, anyway. A fella gave me five coppers for it.”

         “What guy?” Merle demanded, dropping him.

         “Don’t know. He had a huge wagon full of things. Probably came over from the auction house,” Jimmy replied, hurrying to the front of his wagon. “This place is full of old things. You’d probably have better luck if you split up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Merle picked his way through the market. It was all too _cute_ and _sweet_ , and he was pretty sure he could get cavities just looking at it. Not that he didn’t have some already, but his point still stood. It was actually disgusting. He glanced down at Paul. “I was thinkin’.”

_“That’s dangerous.”_

         “You know yer problem? You’ve never had to do a hard day’s work in yer life,” Merle said, lip curling in an annoyed grimace.

         Paul’s furry brown ear twitched. _“And what would_ you _know about the trials of Royalty?”_ He sniffed at a stall, sneezed, and moved on. _“You were some sort of cleaner in your world.”_

         “An’ what’s wrong with that, huh? It’s somethin’,” Merle retorted. “Got me an’ my brother a place to stay. ‘Sides, I wasn’t always a “cleaner”. I was in the army once.”

_“_ You? _In the army?”_ Paul scoffed.

         “Yeah, an’ I was damn good,” Merle said, puffing up his chest. His gate became bit of a swagger.

_“And let me guess; You couldn’t handle all the rules and regulations and quit?”_ Paul asked, tail wagging in amusement.

         Merle snorted. “Nope. Punched a sergeant in the jaw an’ got dishonorably discharged.” He spat on the ground and sneered. “Buncha pussies. Couldn’t stand I knew what I was doin’ better’n they did.”

         Before he knew it, he and Paul found themselves in the auction house. The inside was a cheery buttery yellow, and flowers—mostly roses of varying colors—were absolutely everywhere. Merle was starting to get a headache.

_“I smell something...”_ Paul muttered, nose to the ground.

         “Yeah?” Merle looked around. And froze.

         There in the corner, right by a bubbling stone fountain, were the three trolls, still trapped in gold. “Fuck.”

         “Not a very attractive work, I’ll grant you,” a man with a snooty accent and ugly mustard yellow suit remarked, striding over. “But it is full of vitality and life. Frozen rage. Does it tickle your fancy?”

         Merle grimaced. “Not even a little.” He looked the man over. It seemed like he was the one in charge. “Actually, I was lookin’ fer somethin’. A mirror, ‘bout my height, black.”

         The man sniffed. “I seem to remember a drop off of junk. Over there.” He titled his head in the direction of a doorway.

         Merle nodded at Paul, and the two entered the next room over. He wandered through the narrow isles of junk, picked at tapestries, and stopped by a tarp. Merle frowned and pulled it off. His eyes widened and he grinned. “Prince, look, this is it!”

         Paul whined. _“Shush. Don’t attract attention.”_

         But Merle wasn’t listening. Instead he lifted the little price tag. “Fuckin’ finally, some good goddamn news. It’s only fifteen gold coins.”

         A hand patted the mirror. “Hmm… What do you think?” the man asked. He had a receding hairline, a brown beard, and a pair of black glasses. His ears were pointed, but there were no wings. Merle didn’t know or care to guess what he was, though the long white coat he wore made him look a little like a doctor.

         “This? _Tch._ Just junk,” Merle replied, throwing the tarp back over the mirror.

         The man looked considering. “You know, I thought it was a reproduction. Late Naked Emperor at best. But… I think it’s older than that. Much older. Maybe even early Cinderellan.”

         Merle frowned and walked away. Whoever that guy was, he seemed to know what he was talking about. He just had to hope the guy didn’t actually figure out it was a magic mirror.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Daryl couldn’t believe he’d let Rick talk him into a damn carriage ride. And not even just a simple carriage. No. This one was pure white, with red velvet seats, a guy with a top hat, and fancy horses. “There’s no way the mirror’s this far out. We should get back to town,” he said, looking out at the fields.

         “Do you remember the story of Snow White and what happened when she was dead?” Rick asked, his shoulder brushing against Daryl’s.

         “Uh. Yeah?” Daryl replied, squinting at him.

         Rick tipped his chin in the direction they were headed. “Well the dwarves brought her here. They put her in a glass coffin, in the hopes someone would see her and bring her back to life.”

         Daryl looked around. “Here? In this town?”

         “Yep. To the top of this hill,” Rick said with a smile.

         The carriage came to a stop and Daryl looked up at the large archway. A red heart with white scrolling text read _Snow White,_ while the red text happily proclaimed _True_ _Love Never Dies_. Beneath the arch was a glass coffin on a pedestal. “Ya gotta be kiddin’ me,” Daryl mumbled, chewing on his thumbnail. Still, something made him climb out of the carriage and follow Rick over. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

         Now that they were closer, Daryl could see a guy with an easel and paint brush. Most of the painting was complete, the only thing missing were the people—one in the coffin and the other leaning over it ready to kiss them.

         Rick led Daryl over to the coffin. He made sure the royal purple cushions inside were arranged properly and gestured for him to get in.

         Daryl frowned. “I ain’t a girl.”

         “No, you’re not. But you are gorgeous, Daryl. I think that should be captured forever in a painting. Besides, they already gave me the cape,” Rick said, swirling the golden cape over his shoulders and tying it. He flashed Daryl a teasing grin that had Daryl’s heart doing funny things and his cheeks heating.

         “Fine.” Daryl lowered himself into the coffin and stretched out.

         “So, Snow White lies here for years and everyone thinks she’s dead,” Rick continued his retelling as he took Daryl’s hands and folded them over his chest. He knelt by the coffin and leaned over the side. “Close your eyes and breathe slowly.”

         Daryl let his eyes slip shut and he sighed. It felt...nice. Rick was there, so he could relax and not worry about being vigilant. Just listen to the soothing rumble of Rick’s voice.

         “So, all these men come around, trying to wake her. But none of them were right.” Rick’s voice lowered, barely more than a gentle whisper. “But then one day, this very handsome prince rides past. He stops, and thinks: _Oh, what a quirky girl._ But she’s frozen. Cold. And she resists his every call with her frozen countenance. And he realizes that the only way he can melt this ice queen…is a kiss.”

         Daryl’s eyes fluttered open, and his breath caught. Rick lips were hovering inches from his own.

         “Hey!”

         And the spell shattered. Daryl turned to see Merle and Paul running up the hill toward them.

         “Stop dickin’ around! I found the mirror. C’mon!” Merle exclaimed, grabbing Daryl and hauling him out of the coffin.

         “Jesus, let go! I can walk on my own, dammit,” Daryl snapped, pulling away. “Ya sure it’s the mirror?”

         “You think I’m stupid?” Merle rolled his eyes.

         Daryl decided not to answer that. He glanced back at Rick, who was following with an odd expression. Biting at his lower lip, Daryl fell back and walked beside him. He was thrilled they’d found the mirror, but some part of him was almost disappointed.

 

         “This way,” Merle insisted, leading them through the auction house and into the side room. He stopped. “Wait. No. It was right here!”

         “Seriously? How long ago?” Daryl asked, frowning.

         Merle turned and spotted the snooty man from before. “Hey, ‘scuse me, where’s the mirror?”

         “Oh, you mean the _Magic_ Mirror?” the man asked, smiling. “What a find. We’re all tremendously excited about it. It’s in there.” He pointed to another room.

         Daryl and Merle exchanged a look. Rick touched Daryl’s arm and they all hurried into the next room. It wasn’t hard to spot the mirror. A man and a woman were cleaning and polishing it.

         Merle grabbed the tag and swore.

         The mirror was now five-thousand gold coins.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lengthy wait, everyone! I appreciate all the comments and kudos, though, and I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains attempted suicide.

        _“Oh no. This is the worst thing that could have happened. Look at that: Paul’s Disgrace. Coronation Canceled,”_ Paul whined, looking up at the sign posted on the wall of a shop. _“My coronation is canceled and all you care about is getting five-thousand Rovias to get your stupid mirror back.”_

         Merle shook his head and turned to look at Daryl and Rick, who were sitting beside him on the bench in front of the large fountain. “Hey, how many we got between us?”

         Daryl sighed. “Got exactly thirty gold Rovias,” he replied. “How the hell’re we gonna change thirty gold Rovias into five-thousand by tomorrow?”

         They sat silently for a moment longer, before Merle sat up properly. “Give ‘em to me.” He gestured at Daryl. “C’mon! I got an idea.”

         Reluctantly, Daryl handed what he had over to Merle, who grinned and jumped up. They followed him down the street. A sign shaped like a big white heart with gold lettering pointed them in the direction of Lucky-In-Love Casino.

         “Just trust me. This has to be one of my best ideas,” Merle insisted.

 _“I feel as though I should remind you that all of your ideas_ _so far_ _have resulted in total failure,”_ Paul said with a huff.

         Ignoring that, Merle handed them each some gold coins. “Here, we each get ten. One of us has gotta win a fortune by mornin’.”

         “Actually, I made a little something that might help,” Rick said, crouching down and hanging a paper sign from Paul’s neck. “Lucky gambling dog, please split winnings fifty-fifty.”

         Daryl nodded, looking impressed. “Every little bit helps.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Negan stormed down the hallway of his castle. Arat opened the door to the dining hall and stepped aside.

         “We found him like this five minutes ago. Now he won’t come down,” she explained, nervous.

         “Keep away from me, or I’ll jump!” Prince declared. He stood on a chair that had been placed on the dining table. A cloth was tied around his neck and looped around a beam in the ceiling. “I’ll jump! Then you’ll be sorry. That’ll spoil your plans!”

         Negan’s eyes narrowed and he started walking over. “Is there something you wanted to get off your chest?”

         Prince wobbled slightly with the force of his nodding. “I refuse to be a man. I won’t do it any more! I insist on being a dog,” he said, panting.

         “Any particular reason?” Negan asked, looking up at him.

         “Well… How can I pet myself?” Prince replied, eyes wide. “How can I miss myself, like I miss my master? I demand to be a happy puppy!”

         Negan grinned. “You’ve certainly made your point.” He leaned closer. “Now let me make mine.”

         Prince tilted his head as far as the cloth allowed, a confused whine escaping his lips.

         Grin gone, Negan shoved the chair off the table. Prince yelped as he dropped, hanging from his noose. His legs kicked and he clawed at the cloth. It ripped. He crumpled to the table.

         “There is only one master here,” Negan growled, bending so he was in Prince’s face. “Don’t you EVER forget that, _puppy.”_ He turned and walked away. “I’ve booked you a riding lesson.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The roulette wheel spun.

         “Place your bets, please,” the woman over-seeing the game instructed, smiling.

         Rick passed it, not feeling that was the right game. He had to find a game he knew he could win. The only problem was, he had never been much of a gambler. Rick spotted another woman, dressed in the casino’s signature gold and black uniform, and stopped her. “Excuse me. Can you tell me what’s the highest return I can get for a single gold Rovia?”

         “Well, sir, you’d want to bet on the Grand Jackrabbit Jackpot,” the woman replied, pointing to a large, colorful wheel behind her. “Ten-thousand-to-one odds. But it’s only ever been won once, sir.”

         That was it. “That’s the game for me, then,” Rick said, scooting past her. He placed his bet and watched the wheel. If he won the jackpot, Daryl would be thrilled. Then maybe he’d realize he loved Rick back. Except…if he won, Daryl would get the mirror and they would never see each other again.

         The wheel stopped. “160 Rovias,” the woman said, turning back to Rick and taking his chip. “Bad luck, sir.”

         Rick set another one down. “I’ll just try again.”

 

 

         “I’ll raise you…twenty,” a man said, throwing down a chip.

         “Twenty?” Merle sneered from behind his cards. He set down his own chips. “I’ll raise ya fifty.”

         The man set down another chip, raising the stakes even more. “Call it.”

         Merle looked over his cards. “Have ya got…Mr. Bun the Baker Man?” Shit, he felt ridiculous saying those card names out loud.

         Annoyed, the man slid the card over.

         “Ha! Read ‘em an’ weep!” Merle slapped his cards down, all of them matching.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Prince inched over to the dappled gray horse. “Dogs don’t like horses,” he said.

         “But princes do,” Alden replied with an encouraging smile, while Jed looked on, bored. He urged Prince closer.“Come on, up you get.”

         Whimpering, Prince clung to the horse’s side as Alden tried to get his foot in the stirrup.

         “Come on, almost there.” Alden gave him a final shove. “There, that wasn’t so bad.”

         Prince bent forward, wrapping his arms around the horse’s neck. “I don’t like this!”

         Alden sighed. “Don’t be afraid. The horse isn’t going to move unless you give him the command.”

         “Hit him,” Jed told him when Prince didn’t react.

         Sitting up a little, Prince tapped the horse’s shoulder. With a panicked whimper, he clung to the horse again.

         “Oh for the love of—” Jed slapped the horse’s hind end.

         The horse whinnied, rearing up. Prince screamed as the horse took off. “Help me!”

         Alden swore and ran into the castle. He found Negan in his rooms. “Your Majesty! The, uh, the prince has escaped.” Before Negan could yell at him, Alden ran back out to chase down the horse and the prince.

         Negan gave a long suffering sigh and slumped into a chair. “It’s wrong. It’s all gone wrong.”

         A sound from behind him caught his attention. Negan turned to see the surface of one of his mirrors rippling. Vines curled out from it, wrapping around the edges.

         “Come to me,” a voice called. The image in the mirror cleared, showing a cottage in a forest beyond. “Come to me, and your mind will be cleared.”

         Negan approached the mirror. He reached out for it, then stepped through. When he stepped out of the other side, he was inside an old crypt. A coffin lay in the center, covered in cobwebs and layers of dust.

         He walked around to the side, looking down at the mummified remains of the Evil Queen. “You’re Majesty,” he said, kneeling beside the coffin. “I need your guidance.”

         The mummy’s eyes opened.

         “The Troll King is out of control, the dog is still missing, and the prince has escaped,” Negan explained. “What do I do?”

         “Kill the Troll King,” the mummy said, her lips remaining still.

         “How? I may be a damn good fighter, but he has an army,” Negan replied.

         The mummy’s hand rose from her side, holding up a rotting apple. “How did I kill Snow White?”

         Negan carefully took the apple from her. Blood pooled in his hand and poured out between his fingers.

         “The old ways are the best,” the mummy told him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         Prince shouted in alarm as the horse stopped at an orchard, throwing him from the saddle and onto the ground. He groaned and rubbed his head, sitting up. Looking around, he spotted something he never thought he would see again. Prince scrambled over to the dog bowl on all fours, growling at the other dog that was already eating.

         “Look, look! I told you I saw a man!” a little girl called out.

         Looking up, Prince saw the girl and a woman standing over him.

         “Gods of the forest! That’s not a man, it’s His Royal Highness!” the woman exclaimed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “I’ve never seen anyone as happy to loose as you, sir,” the woman said as the Jackrabbit Jackpot wheel spun behind her.

         Rick glanced over his shoulder to where Daryl was arguing over some other game with another player. He turned back to the woman. “Have you ever been in love, miss?”

         “Just the once, sir. To a knight,” the woman replied. “But he was married.”

         “I’m sorry to hear that,” Rick said kindly.

         A bell rang and the wheel lit up. It had landed on the jackpot.

         “Congratulations, sir!” the woman announced, grinning at him. “You just won the Jackrabbit Jackpot!”

         Rick’s heart plummeted. He had won. Now Daryl would leave.

         “Ten-thousand gold coins! If you’d like to go to the cash desk, you can pick up your winnings,” the woman said.

         “Well, I’ve lost everythin’,” Daryl muttered, coming up behind him.

         Rick turned and herded him away. “Oh, uh, well…you know. How are you doing?”

         Daryl gave him a look. “Just said I lost everythin’. Ya gone deaf?”

         “Right.” Rick placed a hand on Daryl’s lower back, leading him away. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?” They weaved through the crowds, past some red curtains, and up a short flight of stairs to a balcony that overlooked Kissing Town. It was covered in beautiful flowers and climbing vines. “Much better.”

         Sighing, Daryl leaned his arms on the railing. “I’m never gonna get home,” he said. His brows furrowed. “I’m gonna be stuck here fer the rest of my life… I should feel terrible.” Daryl shook his head and turned to look at Rick. “Is it this place or...?

         Rick felt like shit. “Daryl… I can’t keep it from you. Something had just happened to me.”

         “Me too,” Daryl said, leaning closer. His tone was soft, curious.

         “...It has?” Rick asked. They were standing so close, now. The moon cast a lovely glow over Daryl, highlighting the blue in his eyes.

         Daryl nodded. “Tell me… Tell me it’s just this town?”

         “Well, it _is_ a magical love town,” Rick replied, hands landing on Daryl’s waist. “But flowers only grow where there’s seeds. Fireworks only happen when there’s stuff in the rockets.”

         “Maybe there is destiny,” Daryl sighed, a shy smile quirking the corner of his lips.

         Rick smiled back, moving to cup Daryl’s face in one hand. “There has to be.”

         “Then maybe I really _am_ supposed to be with ya.” Daryl leaned into his touch.

         Rick closed the gap between them, lips just starting to brush Daryl’s.

         Daryl turned his head. “Maybe we should see how Merle’s gettin’ on.” He glanced at Rick, then hurried off.

         Growling in frustration, Rick followed after him.

         “An' Mrs. Bones the Butcher’s Wife makes another set!” Merle crowed, dropping his cards on the table with a cackle.

         “How’re ya doin’, Merle?” Daryl asked, stopping at his side.

         Merle grinned at him. “I’m up over six-hundred here! Told ya yer Ol’ Brother Merle knew what he was talkin’ ‘bout.” His grin faded. “But, we ain’t gonna break the bank playin’ Happy Families.”

         “It’s more than we had,” Daryl said.

 _“Tch.”_ Merle looked around the room. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout goin’ over and tryin’ one of them high roller tables.”

         Daryl crossed his arms. “Looks a little difficult.”

         “You think I care? Ain’t no card game scarin’ me,” Merle scoffed. “Remember when we went to Vagas?”

         “An’ ya lost the truck?” Daryl retorted.

         Rick had been feeling hopeful, but that dampened it. Then again, Merle seemed to be doing just fine.

         “Excuse me sir?” a man said, touching his elbow.

         Before Daryl noticed, Rick ushered the man away.

         “Sir, we’re still waiting for you to collect your winnings,” the man said.

         “Shh! Okay, okay,” Rick replied, gesturing for the man to lead the way. He stopped at the gates and peered over them.

         An elderly fairy in an old brown hat smiled at him as he collected his own winnings. “You know, they say money doesn’t bring you happiness, but it certainly brings a smile to my face.”

         “That’s great,” Rick said, not really paying attention.

         The man from before gestured to one of the women behind the gates. She handed him a bag, which he handed to Rick. “Ten-thousand gold Rovias! Would you like to check it, sir?”

         “No thanks,” Rick replied, shoving the bag into his coat. As he tried to sneak away, the people around him erupted into applause. “Please don’t. It’s not that big a deal.”

         “Rick!”

         No. Not that voice. Rick looked around and spotted the damned mirror. And Negan. He bit back a snarl as he approached it.

         “Rick, why is it I can see you, but not your friends?” Negan asked, frowning. “Who’s protecting them?”

         Rick glared at him. “I don’t know anything.”

         “Well, we can agree on that,” Negan said with a grin. “You know, if you’d killed them when I first told you, this wouldn’t be a problem. But you’re making it a _big_ problem.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The elderly fairy made his way down the cobblestone street, a skip to his step, cane clicking merrily along. But something made him pause. A blonde woman dressed in leather, long coat flapping gently in the breeze, leaned against the walls of a building up ahead. Normally it wouldn’t be something that would even catch his attention, but considering the rest of the street was deserted, it was odd.

         She stood properly and approached. “I know your destiny,” she said, arching a brow. “You ask a question, and die before it is answered.”

         The fairy adjusted his monocle. “Who are you?”

         The woman smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I hope people do like this, I do know this sort of thing won't be everyone's cup of tea. So do know I've got a more serious fic that I'll be posting at the same time called A Bond Eternal.


End file.
